Gut Reaction
by financebabe
Summary: What might happen if Stephanie and Ranger followed that little voice that suggests they act on their impulses? Armed with only a phone and a great set of instincts, Stephanie decides to go with her gut and see what might happen. A Babe HEA.
1. Just to Hear Your Voice

_The characters below belong to JE. I'm giving her the credit for creating them so that I can take them and make them do what I wish they would do in her stories._

_Jenny (JenRar) I can't thank you enough for volunteering (okay, accepting me drafting you) into working as the beta on another story._

**Chapter 1 – Just to Hear Your Voice**

_**Stephanie's POV**_

When I was little and used to draw, I was amazed at how many colors Crayola included in their big box of crayons. Sure, it was nice to have options, but how many different shades of orange did you really need? As I sat on the curb and watched my little Volkswagen Bug burn, I realized there were a lot of color variations in fire. If I wanted to truly capture the flames in front of me, I just might need the entire orange, red, white, and blue options to get it right.

As I was pondering how you could begin to break down the different hues of something in motion like a flame, I heard a familiar voice behind me. "You hurt my Joey, and now you get what you deserve."

I didn't need to turn around to know that Grandma Bella had her black purse on her arm, near the elbow, and her arthritic index finger was pointing in my direction. But I was technically in the 'Burg, which meant I had no choice except to stand up and turn to face one of the few people who really scared me. It's not that I worried she would start beating me with her hand bag – although I guess the way she clung to it, that might be a possibility. I was more worried that she'd have a vision and begin to spout off things that were going to happen to me, and then I'd have to live in fear that they would come true.

"Hi, Grandma Bella," I said, trying to sound glad to see her.

"You look horrible," she replied, obviously feeling that at her age, she no longer had to be polite.

"The blast from my car knocked me over," I explained, looking down and seeing the scrapes on my knees and palms before reaching up to attempt to control the hair that had worked its way out of my ponytail.

"No," she disagreed, as though I always looked like this. "You aren't sleeping."

While it was true that I wasn't sleeping well, I wasn't about to admit that to her.

"You are awake at night looking at your life and seeing that you are alone of your own making. You turned my Joey away, and now he is gone and you will never have another like him." She was getting really close to saying she'd had a vision about it.

"Actually, Joe and I decided together that we weren't right for each other," I attempted to explain, not sure why a break up always had to have a person to blame. We couldn't get along; we wanted different things out of life, so staying together was ridiculous. After a few nights of great break-up sex, we'd decided to make a clean break and quit trying to force something between us that we agreed was never going to work. It took a month before we could be around each other without it feeling odd, but over the last few weeks, we'd finally hit a nice place where we could be friends without sex, and it felt natural.

Grandma Bella made a sweeping gesture with her hand in an attempt to stop me from explaining any more. "You'd never be good enough for him, but he is loyal and wouldn't walk away from you, so you pushed him."

I was about to tell her how wrong she was, but a warm voice behind me jumped in, "Actually, I didn't go anywhere. I'm right here."

Speak of the devil, and up he walks. We might not be a couple anymore, but every time I saw Joe, I had to take a minute to appreciate the way he looked in his jeans and work boots. There was a reason Lula insisted on calling him Officer Hottie.

Joe walked right up to me and threw his arm around my shoulder in a casual way, giving me the chance to wrap my arm around his waste and lean into his side. After giving my hair a quick kiss, he asked, "Do I want to know?"

"The car or your grandmother?" I asked, not sure which part of my crappy day he was referring to.

"Either," he replied with a smile. Then he looked up at his grandmother and asked, "Do you have a way to get home? I'm going to have to stick around here for a while, but you're welcome to wait in my car, and I can drive you back when I'm finished."

She smiled at him, an expression few people earned, and replied, "No, I will walk. Only a lazy person feels the need to drive everywhere when they have two perfectly good legs."

I felt like that was a veiled insult, but I wasn't fast enough to pick up on it. "You're getting thin," she said to Joe, adding, "I'll fix you dinner and have your mother bring it over tomorrow."

"I'm sure it will be delicious," Joe replied, knowing better than to argue that Friday night was his poker night and any food she brought wouldn't be eaten then because he and the guys would be eating pizza and drinking beer all night.

After she left, Joe tightened his arm around me and asked, "Did she give you a hard time?"

"Nah," I lied. "Just the usual... I hurt you, I'm alone because no one wants to be around me, and my car blowing up is punishment for how I treated you."

"Oh good, as long as she didn't say anything outrageous," he quipped, quickly letting go of me and stepping back before I could get my fist to connect with his stomach.

"Could you at least tell her the truth?" I asked, wishing he'd set his family straight about what had happened between us.

He shrugged as though it were no big deal. "I told them, but she's only going to believe what she wants to, so there's nothing I can do about her."

As much as I wanted to argue the fact, I'd been around his family enough to know he was right. Both of our grandmothers had a propensity for getting thoughts stuck in their head, and no amount of arguing about it would talk them out of it.

"So what can you tell me about your car?" Joe asked, changing the subject.

"Not much," I regretted to say. "I was in the store when a kid came in and said there was a car on fire in the parking lot. I didn't even have to look to know it was mine. I got outside just in time for the fire to hit the newly-filled gas tank." I think I was more pissed about the fact that I'd wasted money filling up with gas than I was that my car was gone.

"So you got out just in time for the big boom but not in time to see anything," he summed up, slipping effortlessly into his cop role. He looked around, as though searching for someone in the crowd of gawkers standing around the scene. "There are a couple of cameras." He pointed to a pole at each end of the parking lot. "The angle isn't great, but there might be something helpful."

"Will you let me know what you find out?" I hated that I had to ask, but despite our past, Joe wasn't really one to volunteer information, so if I didn't push about it, I might not hear much.

He ran his fingers through his hair, and I wondered how it was possible for it to always look like he needed a haircut without it ever looking like it was too long. "I'm going to be honest with you, Cupcake. This is a low priority crime, and the trouble of getting a warrant and devoting man hours to watching tape that may or may not pan out to be helpful isn't going to happen fast."

Then he lifted his hand and pointed to a small black sticker on the bottom corner of the storefront window. "If you wanted to do a little digging yourself and could deliver a snapshot of anything interesting from the surveillance, then we could definitely act on it for you."

I recognized the RangeMan decal they put on all the stores they monitored. There was no doubt in my mind that if I showed up and told the guys there what had happened, they would let me see the footage, but Ranger was in the wind, and I tried to stay out of the office when he was gone. I never wanted it to seem like I was taking advantage of Ranger's generosity. Therefore, I didn't like to hang around when he wasn't there and risk giving the impression I was helping myself to RangeMan resources when Ranger wasn't around to approve or deny it.

Taking a deep breath, I coughed a little from all the smoke I'd inhaled, nearly choking at the end. Joe found my episode funny and patted my back as though I'd eaten something that went down the wrong way. "Take it easy, Cupcake," he said as I began to pull myself together. "And let me know if you find something for us to follow up on."

It would have been tempting to get mad at Joe for dropping by and then blowing off what had happened by saying I'd have to catch the guy that did this myself. But I'd read in the papers about the cuts in the police department and their crackdown on the guys working any overtime, so I knew man hours were precious and the major crimes division was swamped. Generally speaking, an exploding car might warrant investigation, but since it was mine, this wasn't even front page news anymore. He was just being realistic in pointing out there was no push to solve this most recent highlight in my car ownership record.

The fire department had the flames under control, and I knew from past experience that at this stage, most of the flammable liquids had burned off so they would have it down to a smoking hunk of metal and wet ash soon. I was just about to pull my phone from my purse to call my dad for a lift when I saw a black SUV pull up.

My heart skipped a beat at the possibility of what could be behind the tinted glass. Ranger had gone in the wind a few weeks before and had stopped by my apartment to warn me that this was going to be a long and difficult mission. He'd tried to make light of the danger by saying, "Everything I do is a risk of some sort – I've even ridden in one of your cars."

In light of the scene behind me, that might have been more accurate than I cared to admit.

It seemed too soon for him to be home, but I still couldn't help but wish the driver's side door would open and Ranger would step out. I had long ago accepted these kinds of events were a part of my life, but I felt like they were easier to handle when Ranger was around to check on me.

No sooner had that thought crossed my mind than the door opened, and a black boot hit the pavement. The door was blocking my view of who was coming, but I knew just from the shoe that it wasn't going to the man I wanted it to be. Ranger's body was flawlessly sculpted, with everything in perfect proportion. The boots coming out of the SUV were way too big to belong to his five foot eleven inch frame. Even before the sun glinted off the reflective sunglasses and shaved head, I knew Tank was the RangeMan who'd drawn the short straw to check on me.

Moving with more grace than should be possible in a man of his size, Tank moved straight to me using the path in the crowd that split to make room as he walked through. "Need a lift?" I could always count on Tank to get straight to the point and not waste time with much small talk.

There was nothing I could say to argue that I needed some kind of help at the moment, so I nodded and followed him back through the mass of spectators, all trying to see my latest car flammability study.

Once I put on my seat belt, Tank pulled away from the curb and asked, "Where to?"

I needed wheels, but I wasn't ready to face my mother. She was already stressed because she had Lisa, Mary Alice, and Angie all week while Albert and Valerie took a second honeymoon. If I went over there now, I could probably score dinner and borrow the car, but she'd guilt me into watching the girls so that she could get a break, and I wasn't in any mood to deal with my sister's perfect little prodigy, an infant, and a girl pretending to be a horse. Picturing me being stuck trying to feed Lisa while Mary Alice whinnied in the background was enough to make me tell him, "My apartment would be great."

The beauty of traveling with Tank was that he didn't feel the need to talk unnecessarily. The down side was that if he asked a question, he expected an answer, and he had some kind of uncanny gift for knowing when people lied, so you had to be honest with him.

"Was it an accident or intentional?" he asked first.

This might seem like a standard question, but the fact that he entertained the option that my car exploding near a convenience store could be a complete accident was evidence that he knew me well enough to understand that sometimes, these kinds of things just happened to me. And while we both knew it was more than likely an intentional act of some crazy skip or criminal, there was still the possibility that because of my less-than-good-luck, it was a fluke.

"I have no idea." Knowing he'd call me on it anyway, I just laid it out there and explained how I'd been inside until someone came in and announced a car was on fire. Then I went on to share what Joe had said about the police most likely writing it off as unsolved unless I could come up with a lead for them to track down.

"You want me to have one the guys take a look at the tapes, or do you want to do it?"

"Don't take one of the guys off what they're working on just because of my car," I blurted out, hating the idea of Ranger bleeding money because of my crazy life.

"Boss man would be pissed if we let this go without looking into it," he calmly stated. "You've got a window of time the incident occurred, so it wouldn't take long to review the tapes to see if there's something there."

"I can stop by and do it so that you don't have to tell the guys," I offered, not entirely sure I knew how to do it but feeling like I had to keep him from wasting time on me anyway.

"Hector could look faster than he could show you how to do it yourself," Tank countered, as though he knew exactly what I'd been thinking.

If getting my own set of ESP receivers was standard gear for joining RangeMan, then I might have to reconsider the job Ranger had offered me several times over the last year.

"Probably," I had to agree. "But then you'll have to tell everybody that I've lost yet another car, and there will be money changing hands when somebody wins the pool."

"What pool?" Tank asked, sounding surprised and intrigued.

"You know..." I wasn't going to let him play dumb with me. He might look like all brawn and no brain, but I knew better. "The fire department, the police department, and the ER staff all have betting pools about my cars exploding. Surely RangeMan has one, too."

"They damn well better not, or we're going to have to find a way to bring the dead back to life, 'cause I'll kill them, and when the boss gets back, he'll want a chance to do it again," Tank told me, sounding completely sincere.

"Really?" I found it hard to doubt what he was saying but equally hard to believe it was true.

By this point, we were at my apartment, so he stopped the truck and turned in his seat, lowering his head to peek at me over the tops of his sunglasses before replying. "Really. Nobody at RangeMan bets on you." Then he lifted his head and added, "Besides that, if we were going to bet on you, it wouldn't be about exploding cars. It would be something more interesting to us."

"What's more interesting than an exploding car?" I wondered, recalling the size of the crowd swelling around my latest mishap.

He almost smiled at that question, but the look of amusement faded almost as quickly as it had come. After going through the usual routine of me attempting to tell him my apartment was fine and Tank insisting I stand aside and let him clear it anyway, I relented and handed over my keys. Two minutes later, he agreed everything was clear.

"I'll have Hal drop off a car for you," he said as I dropped my purse on the counter.

That's when I remembered I had no food in the apartment. The only reason I had gone out was to pick up a few emergency Tasty Cakes, and I'd run out of the store without getting them. Dealing with the loss of my car was a lot easier than the dealing with no snack food in the apartment.

I turned around with the frustration I felt at still not having a snack, despite needing it twice as badly as I had earlier.

Tank must have misunderstood my expression because he held up a hand and said, "Ranger keeps an extra car in the fleet for you anyway, so this isn't taking anything from anybody. And it will keep you from having to borrow something while you're waiting on your insurance check to come through."

"It's covered in trackers and other ways of keeping tabs on me, isn't it?" I asked, trying to raise a single eyebrow.

"Consider it making my life easier, too," Tank offered, as though that were an answer to my question. "I'll have Santos call you if there's anything on the tapes that could be useful," he added as he turned to leave.

I would have argued the point, but I decided he was really trying to help me. Plus, I'd already taken enough of his time today, so I let him go without another word.

After locking up behind him, I realized I was stuck here until somebody dropped off a vehicle for me. In the fridge, I had a fresh bag of baby carrots I'd picked up last week for Rex, and in the pantry, there was a big bag of cheese doodles. Maybe it wasn't the most practical lunch, but desperate times called for uni-color meals, so I had no choice.

The longer I was in the apartment with the knowledge that I couldn't go anywhere due to my lack of a mode of transportation, the more I wanted to leave. If Ranger were in town, I could call him and ask for a faster delivery of wheels, and if I was lucky, he'd deliver the car himself.

Thinking about Ranger made me miss him all the more. He might have a strange stance on relationships, claiming they weren't possible for him now, but he was still the most stable and dependable man in my life, even if he was gone for months at the time. Maybe that's part of why we got along so well. About the time I might start to get on his nerves, he had to go save the world, which would give him a little break from me and allow me to seem fresh and charming when he returned. Hell, who was I kidding? Even my closest friends would never call me charming. And the only person to say I was fresh was my mom when she was telling me not to talk back to her.

Without thinking it through, somehow my cell phone ended up in my hand with my thumb poised over the speed dial number for Ranger. I knew he couldn't answer, but I needed a friendly voice. Even though his greeting was short, hearing his voicemail message would be enough, so I pushed the button and waited.

There were many times that I was grateful Rex couldn't talk, and this was definitely one of them. Nobody ever needed to know just how often I dialed Ranger's phone when he was out of town. I lifted a finger for each ring, knowing after four it would pick up and I would hear him tell the caller to leave a message. It always amused me that he didn't say hello or thank the person for calling, and he certainly didn't promise to return the call.

Just as my third finger lifted, the phone went live, catching me off guard because I'd thought there would be another ring.

"Yo," came a soft, almost weak voice.

"Ranger?"

It couldn't be him, but who else would have his phone? Maybe it sounded strange because my brain had finally snapped from the near constant stress I lived under, and this was like a mirage in the desert. It was wavy and not clear, but my mind wanted it to be real badly enough that I thought it was.

"Babe." His response removed any doubt that he'd really answered his phone.

"You answered," I pointed out the obvious.

"You called," he logically reminded me.

"Why do you sound weird?" Clearly, the shock of him answering had caused my editor to leave the building.

There was a shuffling sound, like he was repositioning the phone. "Can't talk loud right now."

"Shit, Ranger," I blurted out, realizing that by talking to me, he could be giving away his location to an enemy waiting to take him out. "Please tell me I didn't just blow your cover and put you in danger by calling."

I almost thought I heard him laugh, and then the sound stopped abruptly and he said, "No, you aren't blowing my cover." Ever the man of mystery, that was all he gave me as an explanation. "Everything okay?"

"Yes," I lied, but knowing he was somewhere in parts unknown, I couldn't bring myself to complain about being stuck in my apartment.

"Try again." The distance between us obviously didn't diminish his ESP.

"My car blew up today," I confessed.

"You all right?"

"A few scratches, but nothing needing medical attention," He knew me well enough by now to know that in my world, that mean all was well. My car going boom was no big deal. My car going boom combined with stitches was highly upsetting.

"Tell me about it," he prompted.

"I'm sure you have more important things to do right now than listen to me prattle about my day," I reminded him.

"Not at the moment," he disagreed, his voice still so quiet that I had to really listen to not miss what he was saying. I didn't speak right away, which caused him to encourage me, "Just talk so I can listen. Tell me anything."

Every signal in my brain was going off, telling me something was wrong, but I also felt in my gut that he needed a distraction and I was the only person that could provide it. So I opened my mouth and started talking, because really, how often did a woman have a man practically begging her to ramble?

I took him at his word that he really wanted me to talk, and I told him all about my day, from doing a little research on my latest batch of skips through to my failed trip to the store for a snack cake. When I finished with all it, I'd been talking for nearly half an hour and suddenly wondered if I'd put him to sleep.

Just before I asked if he was still with me, I heard him say, "Told you those things would kill you."

I couldn't stop myself from laughing out loud. My gut might be telling me that he needed something from me, but at the moment, that joke was exactly what I needed. "Are you sure I'm not keeping you from anything?"

"Nothing," he answered, giving me the assurance I needed. "What made you call?"

"I'm not sure," I answered. "I was a little down about everything that happened, and when I'm upset, your voice usually makes me feel better, so I called your phone just so I could listen to your voicemail message. It was a gut reaction without really thinking it through kind of thing." I paused before judging myself with what I figured he had to be thinking, "It's pretty pathetic, I know."

"No," he disagreed. "Completely understandable."

"Aren't you super busy saving the world or overthrowing some evil dictator?" I gave him the two options Lula seemed to think were equally possible for what happened when Ranger went in the wind.

"I was," he answered, sounding amused for the first time in this conversation. "But now I'm in a bit of a holding pattern." He stopped, as though his air had run out. "I'm glad you called."

"Me, too," I admitted, no longer feeling the walls closing in on me from my forced captivity.

Without another word, he hung up. I knew it was too much ask for him to say goodbye. Theoretically, the conversation had come to a natural conclusion, but a goodbye would have been nice. Then again, Ranger didn't exactly have a nice guy reputation, so I should have known better than to expect a polite closing.

Still, it felt like he was saying a lot more than just "thanks for calling" at the end. I thought back over everything I'd said and realized I hadn't really talked about anything of consequence. For his comment to have been sincere, he would have been saying he was just glad to have heard from me – regardless of what I was telling him. That would explain why he'd seemed to accept my excuse for calling... I'd just needed to hear his voice to feel okay. I decided not to think on it anymore so that I could content myself with the dreamy idea that Ranger had needed to hear from me, too.

**_Ranger's POV_ **

"Captain," the nurse called to me from the hall. "Are you ready?"

I looked at the phone in my hand that just seconds ago had brought me Stephanie's voice. If I had ever doubted the existence of God, her calling me at that exact moment with what seemed like a completely coincidental excuse would have made me question my beliefs.

"Yeah, I'm good to go," I told her, knowing it was true. I'd heard Stephanie's voice one more time, which was really all I needed to face whatever the surgeon was going to tell me when I woke up the next time.


	2. Not All Gifts Can be Wrapped

_The characters below are all from Janet's imagination…bummer._

_Jenny (JenRar) once again you've proven yourself to be the world's greatest beta. Thank you for your hard work on this story._

**Chapter 2 – Not All Gifts Can be Wrapped**

_**Ranger's POV**_

The beeping of the monitor approximately five feet to my left was the first indication I'd survived surgery. The fact that my eyes didn't want to follow a command to open told me I was still heavily sedated. While I understood the necessity of keeping my body still, I despised the sensation of being drugged and not in complete control.

An Army mandated shrink doing a debrief interview with me once attempted to argue that being in complete control at all times was not healthy. I'd told him I'd rather be sick than dead, and my ability to control everything was the only thing that kept me alive on some missions. I'd watched with satisfaction as he attempted to rationalize what I'd said. His silence had been agreement as far as I'd been concerned.

I tried to remind myself that I was in a secure military hospital and that there was enough firepower both on the base and in the building itself to keep me relatively safe while I got over my most recent injuries. That didn't do much to calm me down, but I had to try something to keep from tearing at the bedding to try to wake myself up.

It was hard to decide which was more surprising: the fact that the road side bomb had caught me off guard, or the fact that I'd survived at all. Technically, I'd succeeded in my mission – the target I'd been assigned was no long breathing, and I was on pace to meet my extraction team a day early. I'd been following along behind a military convoy, hoping they would discourage any rebels from attacking or that my presence would be undetectable beside such a large fleet of marked American vehicles.

There was no warning at all, and the prickling sensation that usually alerted me to trouble didn't engage, either. One moment, I was moving down a path that barely qualified as a road, and the next moment, everything hurt and my ears were ringing from the detonation of a bomb. Fortunately, it made enough of a disturbance that the convoy I'd been following circled back and investigated, rescuing me and bringing me back to their base before flying me out on the first chopper available to get me to a real hospital.

The fact that no one would comment definitively about my condition both worried me and pissed me off. I knew it was bad just because of how I felt, but being intentionally deceived made me feel like a child, which hooked my anger quicker than any other response they could have given. The surgeon had said that when I woke up, he'd be able to give me a complete description of my injuries and his prognosis for my recovery, but until he got a look inside, he couldn't commit to much.

Now that I'd survived the surgery, I was going to find that surgeon and beat the information out of him if I had to. I needed to know exactly what the hell was wrong with me and what I could do to fix it so that I could get out of this shithole. It was a hospital, and by military standards, it was a good one. The care I'd gotten so far had been okay – good, even – but I wasn't made to be locked inside, and until I had a plan to get out, I would struggle to relax.

No matter how hard I tried, getting my eyes to open and my body to move was impossible, so I practiced intentionally relaxing, hoping if I stopped fighting it, the medication would wear off sooner. As soon as I heard the monitor beside me slowing down, the unmistakable squeaking of practical shoes on polished flooring sounded to alert me that someone else was in the room. Papers rustled, and the sound of a pen quickly moving on a clipboard told me that my file had been updated. When a second set of feet entered the room, I continued to fake unconsciousness in the hope they would speak, and I'd get my first clues about how bad things really were.

A hand touched my arm. It was soft and didn't really feel like the clinical touch of a nurse checking my IV. "How long do we have to wait before we can give him a bath?"

I was glad her professionalism didn't get in the way of her checking me out. I knew I had a certain effect on some women, and it sounded like this was one such woman.

"At least twenty-four hours," a husky voice responded, sounding like a woman who smoked a pack a day despite her experience in the medical field proving it was a deadly habit.

"I hope I'm on the floor when he's ready," the first voice replied. "Even bandaged, he's still good-looking enough that I'd love to get my hands on him."

The rough voice interrupted, "Right now, he needs professional hands on him, and any other type needs to revaluate why they're touching him."

The touch that had been present immediately slipped away in light of the reprimand from the obviously-superior staff person. It was unfortunate I couldn't speak because I would have thanked her for reminding her subordinate of her place. I wasn't averse to being touched, but I didn't like being pawed at, especially when I couldn't make it clear I wanted it to stop.

Not completely discouraged, the lively nurse asked her terse counterpart about my condition.

"Time will tell, but the surgeon felt like all the internal injuries had been repaired, and the bones were all set. But there's going to be a long recovery ahead for this one. And we won't know the full scope of the damage to his spine for a few days still. It's in the gray area – that sometimes only means mild nerve damage and sometimes means a loss of mobility. Once the swelling goes down and the surrounding injuries heal, we'll have a better idea of the ultimate prognosis."

"How long do you think we'll have him here to take care of?"

If I hadn't been so damn interested in the answer to that question I would have tried to respond; the way she implied she wanted to take care of me made my stomach roll. Did women really talk about men like this? What happened to demure behavior?

A noncommittal sound was the initial response before she added, "He'll be on this floor at least a week. Then he'll move downstairs for his extended recovery before moving to rehab if there's a chance it would be helpful. That's the part that will take the most time. Even if things move fast, he'll be in the hospital for at least a couple of months."

Fuck that – there was no way I was going to be here for two months. If I understood her correctly through the fog in my head, I had two options. The preferred answer would be that I mastered my body the way I always had and did the work necessary to get out of here and back to Trenton so that Bobby could take over my rehab. If that wasn't possible and it turned out that walking wasn't going to be in my future at all, then I'd need to do whatever work was possible to divert attention from myself so that I could end the struggle. Because there was no way in hell I was going back to Trenton in a wheelchair without the possibility of getting out of it. I'd always thought my life would end on a mission, so dying in a foreign hospital because of injuries I got on assignment was close enough I could accept it.

"What's this?" the pushy younger sounding nurse asked. I could feel her hand pulling the sheet back and touching near my hip. Before I could figure out what she was doing, the gruff voice stopped her.

"That's enough." Hell, her voice held enough command to it, I was temporarily impressed and felt the need to stop even though I wasn't doing anything. "According to his chart, he requested his phone to stay with him at all times, and since we had to remove his weapons, the guys upstairs agreed he could keep his phone."

"I thought cell phones were against the rules," the flighty caregiver pointed out.

"They are, but that's not a cell phone." Obviously, this woman was bright and wasn't working her first shift here. "It's a high level sat phone capable of calling anywhere in the world and blocking most tracking systems. Very few people have them, and when one comes in here, it's usually a good idea to let the soldier keep it on them."

"What, like he's some kind of government spy?" The girl almost sounded amused, which didn't elevate her in my opinion any.

"I really couldn't say, and if you value your job, you wouldn't try to find out. People that have those rarely share personal details, and everything you need to know about him is written in his file," the voice of reason pointed out.

A sound much like a sigh that would accompany an eye roll on a teenage girl filled the room, reminding me of Julie for a brief moment. Then footsteps told me someone had left.

The scratchy voice spoke much softer, as though hoping I could hear her but no one else would know what was said. "All right, Manoso, I'm going to do everything on my end to take care of you, but you have to meet me half way and take care of yourself. I'll see you through this if you prove to be the fighter your reputation says you are."

With that challenge, she turned and left the room, the slight echo of her squeaky shoes staying with me for several moments.

Judging time without the benefit of full consciousness proved to be difficult. The first time I felt fully aware, I found that it was possible to open my eyes, too. A quick review of the room gave me nothing to work from. There were no windows, clocks, or clues about the date.

The room was dark, but enough light from the hall was coming in that I could see. I was flat on my back but could angle my head enough to look down my body. A sheet was draped over my waist covering my legs, but the bulk under the cover told me there were casts on both legs. My entire torso was wrapped in gauze, and a slight line of dark red told me whatever had been bleeding had stopped long enough ago that what had seeped out had now dried. I elected to consider that progress.

My left arm was covered in plaster, but my right arm only bore a few rows of stitches. Relief flooded through me when I moved my hand around and was able to feel my phone beside me. I told my arm to lift and was shocked when it appeared in my field of vision. I felt weak, but at least I could control something about myself.

Training was hard to shake off, and I realized when I did an assessment of what I had working in my favor that the ability to move my head, swallow with nothing in my mouth, and control my right arm was really the end of the list. Dwelling on the things working against me was pointless, as the list easily overwhelmed my positives.

My eyes focused on the phone in my hand, and I could feel my lips wanting to turn up at the memory of the last time I'd used this piece of equipment. Stephanie would never know how much I appreciated hearing her voice before I was taken to surgery, but I vividly remembered, as the anesthesiologist put me under, that my last thought was of her.

The muscles in my upper arm seemed to struggle to keep my arm in the air, but I needed to look at the phone a little longer to remind myself that she'd reached out to me – that once again, the life that seemed to surround her came through to me and gave me something to hold onto while I was in surgery.

A male voice cut through my mental ramblings. "I'm glad to see you're awake."

Slowly, I lowered my arm back to the mattress and made sure my blank face was locked down.

"Before the surgery, I promised to come back once I had clear information to share, so I'm here to make good on my word," he explained, letting me know he was the man that had performed the operation.

When he moved close enough, I nodded, recognizing his face as one I'd seen before.

"In some respects, you were lucky," he began, giving me reason to hope that what he was going to tell me might not be as bad as I'd thought it might be. "The burns to your skin were limited and minor enough that they will heal with little in the way of treatment from us. Your abdomen and left shoulder received the worst of it in that respect. As far as broken bones go, I was able to set both legs and your left arm, only having to use stabilizing pins in your left femur. I used some wire in your chest because two of your ribs were crushed more than just broken. That should offer enough stabilization to allow for healing without further interference. Of course, the cuts and gashes were numerous, but sutures will be sufficient to heal those. The worst damage was isolated to the internal bleeding from the pure force of the explosion. Your spleen is gone, and your lung was punctured, but those are both easy to treat. Your kidneys took a beating, but you are beginning to run clear instead of red or pink as you were the first two days after being brought in, so I am encouraged by your progress there."

He stopped to take a breath, and I knew he was holding back something big. I locked my eyes on him, waiting for him to man up and tell me what else was wrong.

"The most troubling injury is your spine. There were some fractures to three of the lower vertebrae, but the spinal column itself was not severed. Still, the amount of swelling there is indicative of trauma to the spine, which means I can't give you an answer about what might come from that injury."

When I spoke, I hardly recognized my own voice. "If it turns out worst case scenario, what would that mean?"

A frown came over his face, as though he didn't appreciate me focusing on the negative, but I admired the fact that he didn't try to talk me out of wanting the information. "A worst case would be the damage is too great to recover from, and even though the spine is intact, the nerves are too compromised to carry signals. If that's the case, you lose the ability to control your legs, and all sensation from the waist down is lost or decreased to the point of being negligible. A best case scenario would be a complete recovery."

"What's your professional opinion of where I'll fall between the two?" I pushed, needing something more than the two extremes.

His eyes narrowed, as though he were fully thinking through my question. "I don't know. I refuse to blow smoke and promise you a complete recovery, nor have I seen anything to make me think you'll lose the use of your legs. Time will tell, and until then, we just have to wait."

I appreciated the fact that he was being honest, that he wasn't sugar-coating anything like some doctors would have. Even though I knew he couldn't give me a definitive answer, I needed something more. "How much time?"

"It could be as little as a couple of days or as much as two weeks," he attempted a guess.

It might have seemed like he hadn't really answered my question, but I still appreciated him giving me something to hold onto. In two weeks, I should know what to expect from my legs. I could wait two weeks.

"Anything I can do to help speed it along?" Most likely, I knew the answer, but I'd had to ask.

"Yeah," he surprised me by responding. "You can keep your ass in this bed, not argue with the nurses who come by to take care of you, and you can stop mentally categorizing every small change in how your body feels." He paused a few seconds before adding, "But since I know there's no way in hell you'll do all that, just try to be as still as possible – specifically, try to keep your abs relaxed so you don't jar your back. I know you think you're losing muscle mass by the day, but the less stress there is on your body, the faster we'll have an answer of what's going on inside."

"I can do that," I assured him, glad to see the shock on his face at my easy acquiesce.

After answering some more minor questions, he excused himself and left me alone once more.

It only took a few seconds before I could literally hear the silence. It practically filled my ears, heavily weighting me down, forcing me to dwell on the possibility that my body might heal and I still might not be able to get out of this bed on my own. Hell, I'd considered every possible way a mission could go to shit, but in all the scenarios I'd assumed, I'd either beat the odds and come out on top or fail so monumentally that death would be the immediate consequence. Never had I considered that a mission might take away my physical abilities, basically removing a big part of who I was. Without my legs, I wouldn't be Ranger – I'd go back to just Carlos Manoso, second son of Ricardo and a generally useless person. Every skill I had revolved around my ability to use my body in some way.

Realizing this line of thought wasn't helping, I attempted to force my mind in a different direction. Every time I got close to finding something that could hold my thoughts, some nagging idea would seep back in of how I couldn't handle life in a wheelchair. Finally, I allowed myself to pull up the memories that I knew would stop the mass confusion in my head. The only thing that ever consumed me without fail was the mental movie reel I had of Stephanie.

I allowed myself to remember the look of her entering that diner and how confidently she approached me. I could see she was nervous, but she refused to let that stop her from getting the help she needed. I also couldn't help but notice that she didn't seem the least bit interested in me, which was equally intriguing. She didn't appear to be checking out the young waitress across the restaurant, so I marked off lesbian as a possibility for why she didn't seem to fall for my charm the way most women did. By the end of our time together that first day, I realized I liked her spunk. I didn't think she had a bat's chance in hell of catching Morelli, but I liked the way she went about it just the same.

Of course, no walk down Stephanie's memory lane would be complete without the phone call in the middle of the night to release her from cuffs attached to her shower rod. I knew she was pumped with adrenaline from the anger coursing through her system. Add in the fact that she was cold from having been wet at some point, and the image she presented when I walked into her bathroom was the stuff a guy could dream about for years. I would never have described Stephanie as a knockout before this, but damn if she couldn't pull off sexy-as-hell in that situation. She was well beyond embarrassed, yet when I walked in, she looked me in the eye, not even attempting to cover herself up. Admittedly, she had no chance of succeeding, but there was an attitude coming from her that was screaming "this is who I am and the kind of shit that happens to me. Accept it, or keep your commentary to yourself." I had to admit, I admired her even more for the way she handled that night.

I had no idea how much time I spent running through my memories of Stephanie, but for the whole time I reflected on our past together, my mind never once went back to the potential damage to my spine. No one had the ability to make me feel as much like a real man as she did.

By the time the nurse returned who had checked on me when I was unconscious, I had gotten myself in a place where I could bear being around another person. She did her initial checks without comment, obviously not one of those people who felt the need for constant chatter. It was exactly the kind of professionalism I appreciated – and the kind that drove Stephanie crazy.

Finally, after she'd switched out the bag hanging on the pole to my right, she spoke. "Manoso, I'm Henderson, and I'm the charge nurse on this floor. Anything special I need to know to make your time here any easier?"

She wasn't asking a fluff question, and the no-nonsense manner she addressed me allowed me to respond without feeling like I needed to harness people skills that were way beyond my reach at the moment.

"The less interaction I have with the young nursing staff, the better," I told her, not sure why that was the first thing out of my mouth. I still remembered the touch on my arm when they thought I was still unconscious and how it had made me nauseous.

"Anything else?" she asked after nodding her head at my demand.

"My phone stays with me at all times," I stated rather forcefully. I knew she understood this based on her explanation from before, but the object in my hand was a link to Stephanie, and right now, I couldn't stand the thought of it being taken from me.

"Got it," she assured me before adding, "I have a charger that I'll bring and plug in so that you don't lose contact with whoever is on the other end of the phone."

I knew the battery life on this type of phone was well beyond anything commercially available, but it still had limits, and I was glad she was aware of them before it died on me and I had to experience feeling cut off from the outside world.

There was a pregnant pause where she waited to see if I had any other random thoughts to share. Once it became obvious neither of us had anything else to add, she turned and walked out.

Without missing a beat, I resumed the memory movie of Stephanie. I remembered the first time she'd referred to me as Batman and how she'd seemed so sure I owned a home that was well hidden, which she referred to as the Batcave. I did have a house that I owned – and yes, protected – but in reality, my apartment on seven was more of my home. It was certainly where I spent most of my time. Plus, after the first time she'd crashed there and I'd seen her sleeping in my bed, I felt more drawn to that place than any other spot on Earth.

I smiled as the memory of her sneaking into my office at Haywood, as though I wouldn't be alerted by the guys in the control room when she tried to get in and out of my secure space. After she left, I went down the stairs because I knew she'd never consider putting herself through that exercise when an elevator was available. I hoped by getting in right after she'd been there that I could figure out what she'd been up to. I refused to believe she was attempting to take anything from me, but her behavior didn't exactly lend itself to any other interpretation.

The second I walked into my office, I laughed out loud. On my desk was a small rectangular box, wrapped in black paper with the Batman symbol in bright yellow on top. I must have wasted half an hour sitting in my chair, just staring at the package. It had been years since I'd gotten a real, honest-to-God birthday present, complete with fancy paper and a card. My family had gone to exchanging gift cards years ago, preferring to let people pick out what they wanted. It was practical, but until I was faced with a real surprise gift, I didn't realize what we were missing.

Finally, I couldn't stand it any longer and I opened the card, which carried the same superhero theme. There were no printed words, but she'd filled most of the blank space with her curly script, wishing me a happy birthday and reminding me that the skips hadn't been missing court much lately, but she couldn't let my big day go without recognizing it. I knew that the low levels hadn't been giving her much to chase lately but hadn't thought that she might be low on funds.

Without thinking about the invasion to her privacy, I pulled up the live file I had on her and looked up her checking account balance. She was down to seven hundred dollars, and it was the last day of the month. Tomorrow, her rent of six hundred and ninety dollars would be due, and then she'd be down to her final ten bucks. Practically speaking, she was dead broke, and yet she'd still used some of her money to buy me a present. No matter what was in the box, I knew it would be the most valuable thing I owned.

Carefully, I pulled the tape off, ensuring I didn't rip the paper, and then neatly folded it for some reason. I wasn't one of those people who saved wrapping paper to reuse, but every part of this present was meaningful, and I didn't want to lose any of it because I was impatient. Finally, I lifted the lid from the box, and the grin that came over my face was too much to block with my typical blank expression. Sitting on a bed of fluffy cotton was a Pez dispenser with a Batman head on it. When Stephanie worked a theme, she went all out.

I lifted his head, not really interested in the sugar pellets that usually filled these toys. Unexpectedly, instead of the pale, oval-shaped candy, there was something in the shape of a superhero now sitting in my hand. I was confused about the difference until I noticed her card had fallen over and there was additional writing on the back. In small letters, she'd added, "I knew you would never agree to eat the empty calories of the candy that came with the Pez, so I kept it and filled Batman with my favorite characters from a bottle of chewable multi-vitamins. It's true that there's sugar in them, but at least there's something in it that's good for you, too."

I couldn't stop myself from laughing aloud at that point, and despite knowing I already took a multivitamin that was considered the top of the line, I still popped the kid's product in my mouth. It was sweet and tart at the same time, but knowing the thoughtfulness she'd gone through on my behalf, I'd not tasted anything as wonderful in my life. She'd always been the best kind of medicine for me.

Thinking of medication forced me back to the realism of my current situation. Somehow, I had to find a way to pass the time for fourteen days with no physical activity. It was then that I found my right arm moving once again, bringing my phone up to my ear and holding down the speed-dial number that I knew would bring me the voice I most wanted to hear. I hadn't thought it through or considered what I might want to say to her. I'd just acted on a gut-reaction kind of impulse.

"Hello?" Stephanie answered on the third ring, somehow making her greeting sound more like a question.

"Hey, Babe," I responded, letting her know who was dialing her at whatever time it happened to be.

"Ranger?" She still sounded uncertain that it was me, making me wonder if I'd woken her.

"It's me," I promised her. When she didn't immediately speak, I added, "Are you okay?"

My concern for her was enough to break whatever spell she'd been under, and she finally spoke. I knew then that it didn't matter what she said; just hearing her made me feel more like a man than I had since the bomb first detonated. I felt strong and vital, and any thoughts that had been lingering about being incomplete totally vanished in her voice. I'd been right to call her... She was exactly the medicine I needed.

_**Stephanie's POV**_

It was just after midnight, and I couldn't sleep. Tank had called earlier and told me that after reviewing the tape, they had an image of who had planted the bomb in my car. Any wishful thinking I'd done about it being an accident where my bad luck allowed some fluke to make my car combust was now completely gone. This wasn't the first time something like this had happened, but knowing that the person who had always watched over me wasn't in town now had made me feel vulnerable and exposed.

Going as far as to pick up my phone and debate speed-dialing him, I was stuck in that position when the object in my hand began to ring. It took me a minute to believe someone was really there and it wasn't a figment of my imagination before I answered.

Even then, I was convinced I'd somehow gone to sleep because the person on the other end of the phone was the very man I most wanted to hear from. If he'd been in town and this had happened, I knew he'd be pushing for me to stay in lockdown of some sort, which I'd completely object to and fight him on. Knowing that, it seemed strange to experience the sense of relief I felt just from hearing his voice. I guess what I'd really needed was the assurance that I wasn't alone. The unconditional support I'd always gotten from Ranger was the precise medicine I needed to rip away the sensation of isolation I'd been wallowing in earlier.

When he asked me if everything was okay, I felt my mouth open, and I jumped in to tell him everything that had happened since we last spoke a couple of days before. I'd never know how he knew to call when he did, but I'd be forever grateful that once again, my own personal Batman was there for me exactly when I needed him to be.


	3. A Little Help

_JE gets all the credit for creating the characters below. I just decided to have a little fun with them._

_Jenny (JenRar) really, there are no words to sufficiently thank you for all the work you've done as the beta on this story. I am truly fortunate to be able to work with you._

**Chapter 3 - A Little Help**

_**Stephanie's POV**_

"Are you okay?" Ranger asked, using that same quiet voice that he had the last time we spoke. It wasn't really a whisper; it more like he wasn't capable of producing any more volume. I was sure it had something to do with keeping himself safe on his mission, and my mind was able to discount the change in how he sounded once I accepted that it was really him on the phone.

"I'm all right." I wanted to assure him I wasn't injured in any way, but since I also didn't want to lie to him, I jumped in and told him what was going on. "Do you remember the last time we talked, I told you my car had gone to its great reward?"

"Sure," he replied in his usual monosyllabic manner.

"Tank had Hector pull the security footage from the parking lot, and the angle of the lens was good enough to show the back half of my car. They were able to get a decent shot of the face on the guy who walked up, lit the fuse on something he was holding, and then tossed it right under my gas tank before walking off as though he hadn't done a thing wrong."

"You recognize him?" Ranger had switched into his problem-solving mode. There was a time I had found that irritating because it felt like he was jumping in out of a lack of faith that I could figure out what to do next. But now I knew him well enough to know he was just trying to help, so it was sweet in a caveman kind of way.

"Not at first, but once Tank rotated the picture through some RangeMan contacts, they got a name of Michael Miller," I reported, wincing as I told him about how much time RangeMan had spent working on this. He'd never acted like it bothered him before, but I always worried that at some point, his generosity would end. Hearing no objection when paused, I jumped back into my story. The last time we'd spoken, he'd just wanted me to ramble, so was I hoping that permission was still in force.

"I did a search and realized he was a business associate of Joey Malone, a man I'd had as a skip from Vinnie. I got Connie to look into it through her family connections, and it seems that Michael used Joey as his primary bookie and had placed enough bad bets that he was in major debt. I guess Joey told Michael he'd consider the debt paid in full if Michael could keep me from bringing him in."

"So he tried to kill you?" Ranger's voice might have been quiet, but I could still hear the edge creeping into his tone. I knew I'd never been a hearts and flowers kind of person, but it seemed odd that I got all gooey over the idea of Ranger getting pissed on my behalf because someone had tried to hurt me. There are some sentiments you can't find a greeting card for, but it doesn't make the emotion any less touching.

"I don't think he was trying to kill me because he must have known the fire would blow the car quickly, and I wasn't in it. If he was trying to take me out, then he's either got horrible timing, or he's really stupid."

"Anybody who would try to hurt you automatically has the label stupid in my book," Ranger pointed out. I knew that he'd spread the word on Stark that I was his woman – whatever that was supposed to mean. He said it would offer me protection from the gangs and thugs when I had to go into that part of town. I guess the fact that Michael would risk getting Ranger mad at him was some compelling evidence that he wasn't really all that bright.

"My guess is he was trying to send a message, but he forgot to let me know what the message was exactly," I said, deciding to go with my best denial rationalization. "Now that we've figured out who blew up my car, he's probably thinking his job has been done."

"Are you giving up on Malone?" Ranger asked.

"No way. He's worth six months' rent, and I'd love to have that kind of bank balance sitting in my account," I argued, explaining my reason for going after Joey despite what had happened.

"You want back up?" he asked, having learned in the time we'd known each other that I didn't appreciate it when he forced help on me, but often if he'd just ask nicely, I'd go along with whatever he was suggesting.

"Not yet," I told him, still trying to keep from looking like a leech. "I've got a few ideas on how to get Joey back in the system, and if they don't work, then I'll suck up my pride and ask Tank for some advice."

"Ask Vince, not Tank," Ranger said, his voice growing softer on every word.

"Why Vince?" I blurted out, even though I knew he was fading at the end.

"Ask him," Ranger gave me one of his trademark cryptic replies. "Talk to me."

I almost picked on him for his demanding follow up line, but something held my mouth shut, and I felt like I needed to just comply with what he needed. Ranger had never reached out to me while he was on a mission, so I had to assume there was a reason he was doing it this time. If he needed me to talk, then that was something I was more than qualified to do.

So I told him about taking Grandma to the viewing at Stiva's last night and how she'd brought a huge arrangement of flowers because the widow had forbidden her to come and she'd needed something to hide behind. I'd stood back, knowing there was no way to stop it yet feeling strangely curious about just what was about to happen.

"She got to the casket without anyone stopping her, which surprised me because there was no missing the tacky arrangement in front of her. Of course, once she got to the poor guy laid out, she burst out laughing, drawing attention to her. She set her flowers down and announced, 'I thought you'd want to hide the fact that Clarence liked to wear your clothes and makeup, but he's got enough rouge and lipstick on that it's a shame you put him in a suit instead of the frumpy dresses you usually let him wear around the house.'

"Everyone in the 'Burg knows Clarence was a closet cross-dresser, but it was one of those things you whispered about yet refused to publically acknowledge. I rushed to Grandma Mazur's side to assure everyone I was taking her home and caught a quick look at the deceased. Anything I might have said to fuss at her for the inappropriate comments was quickly dashed from my head when I realized she was exactly right. Either his widow had decided he would enjoy the makeup for his final send off, or the new cosmetologist at Stiva's needed to find a different job, because I'd seen clowns at the circus with less make-up on their faces."

He made enough sounds throughout the story to encourage me that he was still listening, so I transitioned directly into the story of bringing in Old Man Morley. When Lula had heard that I was going to pick up an old guy wanted for shop lifting a salami by sticking it down his pants, she'd insisted on coming with me. Most people in the 'Burg knew he stole things on a near daily basis, and his son, who he now lived with, would go back to the store the next day and pay for whatever his dad took. Unfortunately, his son was on vacation, and Officer Pikney had witnessed the shoplifting and hauled Morley downtown.

I'd thought it would be an easy pick up because I knew him and figured I'd come up with some story to talk him into coming with me. Just as I'd suspected, I'd convinced him to come downtown with me to get him rebonded by telling him the cops had lots of coffee mugs and pens that he could check out while he was waiting. He'd followed me to the RangeMan SUV I was currently using and climbed in the back seat, positioning himself right behind Lula. While she had been disappointed she didn't get to shoot anybody, she'd stayed pretty quiet on the ride downtown.

"I was only a block from the station when Lula turned around and started screaming at Morley and calling him a pervert. Between her yelling at him and Morley raising his voice to try to explain, I had to stop the car to turn around and face them both.

"It turned out that Morley hadn't had access to many large women before, and after seeing how tight Lula's blouse was, he was convinced she had stolen something and padded her shirt with it. He was just trying to feel what she'd stowed in her bra when Lula reacted to having a creepy old man groping her boobs. Then it took me an extra half an hour to get out of the station because Lula climbed out of the SUV when I was walking Morley in and yelled, 'Normally, I charge old perverts like you to do what you just did.' Unfortunately, a new, overzealous cop was on duty and attempted to arrest Lula for what he thought was a confession of prostitution.

"I finally got everything sorted out, and once Connie promised to come take care of Morley, I hauled Lula back with the promise of getting her a bucket of chicken all her own. She countered that it would take some mashed potatoes and gravy, too, to forget getting felt up by a dirty old man and then frisked by a cop who didn't know the difference between a hooker and honest business woman. I decided not to point out that since changing careers, Lula hadn't invested much money in a new wardrobe. In light of how she looked and what she'd yelled, I couldn't completely fault the guy for jumping to the conclusion he did."

This time when I finished talking, I could have sworn I heard him chuckle and then stop abruptly. I guess whatever cover he was using now didn't allow him to laugh out loud. I glanced at the clock and noticed I'd been droning on for about forty-five minutes. I didn't want to take up too much of his time, so I tried to give him an out. "I guess I should let you go before I talk your ear off."

"No chance of that, Babe," he replied, not exactly disagreeing with the fact that I should let him go.

"I'm going to remind you of that the next time we pull a surveillance shift together and you ask me if it's possible for me to sit still and be quiet," I teased.

"Feel free," he challenged, sounding a lot lighter than he had when he'd first called, despite his voice still being quiet.

I didn't really want to end the conversation, but I didn't want to take advantage of his time, either, so I said, "Don't get shot, Batman."

"Don't go crazy, Babe," he replied, and then I realized he'd hung up.

It took a few minutes before I shut down my phone and put it on the bedside stand. I didn't understand how he managed to call me exactly when I needed it, but I definitely felt better now that we'd spoken. Out of habit, I pulled back the curtain in my bedroom window and looked down in the parking lot, noticing a RangeMan SUV parked there that no doubt had at least one of the guys in it.

Glancing at the clock, it was near one in the morning, but I wasn't really sleepy, and after talking to Ranger, my mind was still spinning, so I threw on some lounge pants and made my way into the kitchen to pull out the leftover cookies my mom had sent home with me after I'd brought Grandma Mazur home from the funeral home.

I'd made it about three steps away from the building when the passenger side door of the SUV opened and Hal stepped out. "Can I help you, Ms. Plum?"

Hearing him call me by a name I associated only with my mother made me stop walking. "Yes, you can. You can call me Stephanie, or Steph, and drop the Ms. Plum formality."

"Sure thing, ma'am," he replied quickly, as though he'd agree with anything to get me back in the building. "Can I walk you back upstairs?"

"No, I came down to bring you cookies," I told him, holding up the little container my mom had put them in as evidence for why I wandering around at this hour of the night.

"We're okay, ma'am," he assured me and gestured with his hand toward the building door.

"Who else is in the truck?" I asked, not willing to let this go. In fact, seeing how nervous he was to get me back in the building was making it even more fun to try to keep him talking so I could continue to stand out in the parking lot.

"It's Vince, and he's diabetic, so he can't have cookies," Hal replied, sounding like his patience was about to run out. No doubt he'd thought tonight's shift would be an easy one with me staying in and sleeping like I usually did at this hour.

"Oh, that's okay." I was struggling to keep the smile off my face as I spoke. "Mom sent me home with some leftover spaghetti, so I can heat some of that up and bring it out to him. Which would he rather have?"

Hal blinked at me as though I'd grown a second head. "Ms…ah Stephanie, I don't understand. Why are you trying to give us food? Are you going to run, and you don't want us to see where you're going?"

There was a piece of me that resented him assuming that the only reason I'd be nice to him was if I wanted to divert his attention so that I could escape. Then I remembered that of all the guys at RangeMan, Hal had the greatest excuse for jumping to that conclusion. The first time I was nice to him, I took his stun gun and turned it on him. I guess the expression "once bitten, twice shy" made sense in this case. I decided trying to explain wouldn't carry much weight with him since he probably didn't trust anything I said.

"I'll just ask him myself," I announced, and then sidestepped Hal to get to the SUV, where I figured Vince was sitting behind the driver's side window.

As I approached, he lowered the window, appearing to be slightly amused.

"I didn't realize you were diabetic," I announced, as though every conversation with me began with a medical pronouncement.

Vince blinked a few times, giving the impression that fluttering his eyelids would bring additional meaning to my words. Finally, he gave up and just responded to what I'd said. "Yes, I was diagnosed when I was in high school, so I'm used to it. Can I ask why you brought it up?"

Raising the container in my hand, I pulled the top off to reveal the chocolate chip cookies it contained. "My mom sent me home with leftovers, and I wanted to share, but Hal said you couldn't have any, so I was stopping by to ask if you wanted me to heat up any of the spaghetti she'd cooked for the dinner instead. I mean, if you have to be out here during the night, the least I can do is offer you something to eat in order to help pass the time."

After I finished talking, I was pleased with the explanation I'd given. Vince seemed to believe me, too, because he reached a hand out through the window and took a cookie from the tin I was still holding up as a visual aide to collaborate my story.

"Can you eat that?" I asked as he took a bite.

Vince seemed amused by my question and then patiently explained how being diabetic didn't mean he could never have sweets; he just had to monitor how much he ate and what effect it had on his current sugar level. But apparently, he was feeling low, whatever that meant, so having something to eat was a good idea at the moment. After he finished explaining everything to me, I was feeling pretty good about listening to that little voice in my head that had suggested I should share my goodies with the guys.

Hal eventually took a cookie – the fourth time I offered them – although I couldn't help but notice he didn't take a bite and merely held it in his hand.

We talked for about half an hour, and then I yawned, giving Hal the opportunity to point out that I was obviously tired and should go back inside to get some rest. Now that I was finally feeling tired, I decided to stop picking on the guys who had been assigned to watch over me as I slept and went back upstairs, glad to have given them a little energy boost during what would no doubt be a dull shift.

The next morning, I woke up suddenly, sitting straight up in bed. I glanced around the room, trying to remember what had jolted me awake like that, and could only piece together small bits of a dream I'd been having. Ranger was in the hospital and was facing some kind of life-altering injury. He didn't know I could see him, and he was lying in the bed, contemplating taking his own life in order to not have to live what he was convinced would be a half life. I was screaming for him not to do anything stupid, but he couldn't hear me. When I swallowed, my throat was sore, making me think the screaming I'd done hadn't all been in my dreams.

I had to get the feel of that dream off me, so I got in the shower and just stood under the spray for a long time glad to feel the stress of that horrible idea melting off of me gradually. Once I was dressed, I decided to head into RangeMan. I wanted to talk to Tank about calling off the guard in the parking lot.

When I pulled into the garage, I noticed a truck pulling in behind me and parking three spaces down from the spot I always seemed to use when I was here. I chose to believe they were coming back from a pick up at the same time I was coming into the office instead of believing they'd followed me from my apartment without me noticing. I didn't get the chance to ask them because I got in the elevator, and being the true RangeMen they were, they took the stairs.

On five, the main office was quiet but still had the feel of bustling with activity. It's what I imagined libraries used to be like before the electronic book craze hit. Deciding not to waste any time, I went straight to Tank's office and knocked.

"This better be important!" yelled out the deep voice I knew belonged to the man I was here to see.

I briefly hesitated, trying to decide if I was here because of something important or if I was about to add to his workload. In the end, I figured I was asking him to pull the guys off me, which would make his scheduling easier and give him two more guys around the clock to handle some of the other work around here. It seemed like a winning combination, so I confidently pushed the door open and stepped in.

Despite my kindhearted feelings toward the silent man who watched over me when Ranger was away, the second my eyes focused on the state of his typically tidy office, my mouth opened without hesitating, and I blurted out, "It looks like a paper factory exploded in here."

"Yuck it up, little girl," he replied, not sounding the least bit amused. He pointed to the chairs across from him and said, "Have a seat."

I stepped around a stack of folders in the floor and moved to the chairs, only to find them both covered with papers that didn't appear to be ordered in any manner. "I think I'll stand," I commented, attempting to be nice and not disrupt whatever he was in the middle of.

Tank's massive hand covered his eyes and then moved up and over his bald head to press on his neck. "Move them," he commanded, sounded more defeated than authoritative. "It's not like I remember what in the hell those are for anyway."

I lifted the papers from the chair with the smaller stack and saw they were print outs about clients who had alarms go off over the last week. Always curious about why the guys did what they did, I totally forgot about ditching my guards and asked, "Why do you print these out?"

He squinted to bring the top page I was holding into focus and explained, "I'm supposed to review them all to see if there are any patterns or similarities to know if the alarms are flukes, targeted attacks, or because of RangeMan error."

"That sounds like something you'd be good at." I wanted to encourage him because even though he wasn't saying much, his body language was screaming defeat.

"It is," he agreed, grabbing a handful of the papers on his desk and shaking them in the air as though the oxygen in the room had forced him to work on them. "But I can't get to that until I finish the schedule for the next two weeks, and the guys are all requesting specific shit, so every time I finish the schedule and check it with the special requests, I've booked somebody at a time they wanted to be off so I have to start all over."

Acting on instinct alone, I offered, "Would you like me to do the schedule so you can look at these alarm reports?"

Spending the amount of time I had in the building, I was used to intense looks and blank faces from the guys. But never had I seen an expression of pure relief on anybody's face the way Tank was looking at me now. "Do you think you can?"

"Give me all the requests and the template you're using for the schedule. I'll pull these together into something and bring it back to you when I'm done. If you want to work on these, then together, we can rid your office of two stacks of paper." It was unusual that I was accused of being a true optimist, but at the moment, I felt the need to act a little perkier than usual just to help balance the serious downer mood Tank was sporting.

I moved to the cubicle I usually used, wondering why it was that no one else ever seemed to sit there. It took me half an hour to come up with a two week rotation, keeping the vacation requests in mind and balancing it with the medical needs listing from Bobby and the training log that Tank had included in the stack. Once I was sure I had covered everything, I printed off two copies, made a neat stack of all the backup, and carried it back to Tank's office.

Since I was helping him, I didn't bother to knock and walked straight in, placing the schedule on his desk with a smile. "Here you go."

"There's no way you finished it that quickly," he challenged.

I attempted to raise a single eyebrow at him. Without a mirror, I couldn't tell if I was successful, but he looked back down and started paging through the requests, double checking them against the schedule I'd given him. Finally, he looked at me, his face slightly awed, and said, "Post it in the breakroom and e-mail me a copy to send out. If I don't get any complaints about it today, then I'm going to start bringing this to you to do. It's my least favorite job here."

Finishing that task hadn't taken me very long, and it had brought back my business training, so I decided to see if I could spread a little more relief to the big guy and asked, "What's your next least favorite job?"

"Payroll," he replied without missing a beat. He pointed to a stack of papers on the corner of his desk. "I've already looked over the timesheets and approved them, but now I have to enter it into a spreadsheet. It takes me a long time to type it all in and then check it and double check to catch all the mistakes I've made."

"Can I do it?" I asked, wanting to help but not sure if I was allowed to see the information contained in a payroll file.

Seeing the shocked look on Tank's face made it totally worth it. "Hell, yeah, you can do it. I don't know why you'd want to, but if you're willing, I'm not going to say no."

And that phrase was how I found myself sitting in a cubicle for an hour typing away at a computer. In the past, I'd always hated how being chained to a desk felt, but knowing I was volunteering meant I could stop and leave at any time, and it took away the trapped feeling of an office job. Plus, I figured that by helping Tank, I was indirectly helping Ranger, and it felt good to think that I was doing something to help the man who had spent so much time helping me.

I pressed send on the e-mail to give Tank the completed spreadsheet at the exact moment Bobby began speaking behind me. "Tell me you're working here now!"

If I didn't know better, it sounded like Bobby was confused and thought today was Christmas. "What?"

"If you're working here, then Tank won't be so damn grumpy, and it means you'll be abiding by all the RangeMan policies, including training and exercise, which means I'll finally get my hands on you," he explained, bouncing on the balls of his feet when he said the last part.

Of course Lester chose that moment to begin eavesdropping and jumped in, "I want a chance to get my hands on you when he's done. He's all about pain, but Beautiful, I'm all about pleasure." As he said the last part, he gave me an eyebrow wiggle and moved his fingers.

Bobby smacked Lester's arm to keep him from saying anything else. "Man, shut up! I just meant I could get her started on an exercise program in the gym. In my last continuing education class, I did a course on physical fitness for women, and I've been jazzed about the chance to finally put it to good use with you."

"Before you get carried away," I interrupted, not sure I wanted to know exactly why Bobby was so excited about getting me in the gym, "I'm just volunteering to help Tank because he seemed to be buried under a mountain of paperwork. I'm not actually working here."

As Bobby's face fell, I almost felt guilty for taking away the joy that had been radiating off of him. Then I pictured him demanding I give him another twenty-five sit ups in the gym, and the guilt completely melted away. "If you'll excuse me, I have to check in with Tank, and then I'm out of here."

By the time I got to Tank's office, he was smiling. "This is perfect," he commented, having found the file I'd sent before Bobby and Lester had distracted me.

"Try not to sound too surprised," I joked. "I'm good for more than just distractions."

"I never doubted that," he quickly spoke, giving me evidence of how sincere that comment was.

I offered an olive branch. "Do you think you'll need some more help tomorrow?"

The grin that broke out on his face was all the payment I needed to return the next day. "If you've got time, I've got more than enough paper in here to keep us both busy."

With that, I grabbed my purse and left as quietly as possible before Bobby had a chance to think up any exercise routines or Lester decided to show me what his hands of pleasure were capable of. They were both like goofy brothers to me, but it had been a long time since I'd had anybody's hands on me, and the mixture of pain and pleasure those two could no doubt hand out was probably more than I should entertain at the moment.

_**Ranger's POV**_

Eight hours after talking to Stephanie, I was about to lose my mind. I understood the policy to not put clocks in the room to keep patients like me from focusing on them and obsessing over how slowly time crept in the hospital, but that didn't make it easier.

Henderson had checked on me three times during her shift, making me wonder if she ever went home. It seemed every time I woke up, she was there. The last time I came out of a nap, I felt some pressure from the phone I was gripping. When I looked down, there was a power cable running from the phone to the wall, proving she'd made good on her word.

There were plenty of younger nurses, certainly plenty of better-looking ones, but the thought of them coming into my room made me want to throw things. Fortunately, anytime one of them got close to my door, I heard the commanding voice of the charge nurse calling them back.

I had a feeling all I'd need to do was threaten to tell Henderson the next day if someone tried to come in when I wanted to be left alone tonight to make them back up. My name carried that kind of power – at least, it used to when I was physically capable of backing up the threat.

Even though I knew there was no point in dwelling on what might happen, it was hard to keep my mind from going there. There was a television mounted on the wall across from my bed. It was tempting to turn it on and see what mindless drivel was on there in the hope of distracting myself. Of course, I knew it wouldn't work, so it was pointless to even seek out the remote.

Instead, I shut my eyes and turned on the reel of memories of Stephanie. I smiled at the idea that I had a mental "Best of Plum" tape that I could pick up and start anytime I needed it. I'd used this kind of distraction to get through three days in the trees of jungle without being discovered by animals or militants. If I could survive that, I could certainly survive a few hours in a hospital bed with Stephanie to keep me company.

Besides, if I got tired of using my memory, I guess I'd proven I could always use the phone.


	4. Coming Cleanin a manner of speaking

_I am shamelessly using the characters below from JE's creation. I'm not clever enough to come up with them on my own._

_Jenny (JenRar) you are the single reason this story has any flow to it at all. Thank for your work as the beta._

**Chapter 4 – Coming Clean…in a manner of speaking**

_**Ranger's POV**_

I wondered how high the paperwork was going to be in Tank's office by the time I finally got back in Trenton. I knew there was a fifty-fifty chance I'd never make it back there, but I wasn't as groggy this morning, so I was attempting to see if the Power of Positive Thinking was really a bunch of crap or not. Besides, thinking about the miserable look Tank was no doubt sporting at the moment definitely made me feel better about my current state of inactivity. It wasn't like he was out on the streets, either. I guess misery really did love company.

That thought made me laugh, but I quickly stopped myself because my ribs hurt like a son of a bitch every time I jostled them or took a deep breath. I'd been through this routine enough to know that a broken leg or arm was nothing compared to shattered ribs. It would be weeks before a big draw of air didn't start the sensation of a fire in my chest.

Before I could launch back into the black hole of worrying over what would happen if I never felt the pain my legs had to be in, the phone in my hand began to vibrate. Without thinking, I lifted it to my ear and answered. There were only a handful of people who could get a call through at the moment, and as bored as I was, I'd gladly speak to any of them.

"Ranger?" came Stephanie's uncertain voice.

"Were you expecting someone else to answer?" I couldn't help but joke with her.

"No, I just needed to be sure you were there before I started talking. I know you're on a mission, and I wasn't sure if this was a good time for me to distract you," she worried.

"I wouldn't answer if it was a bad time, Babe," I tried to reassure her. In truth, based on my current schedule, there was no such thing as a bad time to hear from her.

There was a sound that resembled one of her frustrated sighs.

"Everything okay?"

"No," she instantly blurted out, putting me on edge. Then she shifted her answer. "Well, yes."

"You want a minute to see which answer's going to win?" I didn't usually tease her like this, but I was so damn glad to hear from her that I couldn't help it.

"The truth is, I've done something stupid, and I don't want any of the guys to know about it, but I don't know any other way to get out of the mess I'm in," she offered as an explanation, proving she'd learned a thing or two from me about using words but not offering very much in the way of definite meaning.

"You're going to have to try again, and this time, actually tell me what's wrong," I suggested, hoping she'd tell me the whole story.

A deep breath rattled across the phone, and I knew she was stealing herself to spill the story. "I have some things I need to do today, but I can't get into my bathroom."

There were so many questions that sentence brought up, but I didn't want to push her too much. "Why don't you call the superintendant of your building?"

"Dillon is on vacation this week, and the number he gave us to call is for an answering service that said someone would call me back in forty-eight hours. I can't wait two days to get into my bathroom," she explained, getting a little louder at the end of the sentence.

"Why not just go to your parents' house and use theirs?" I was struggling to keep the humor I was feeling out of my voice.

"I can't do that!" she insisted. "There are things in mine that I have to have in order to fix my hair. Plus, I'd have to admit why I couldn't use my own, and my mother would have a field day if I told her I was locked out."

"How did the door get locked?"

She growled, obviously frustrated. "I don't know!" I waited, and she spoke more quietly when she finally explained, "I was mad last night when I got home and banged the door open, which made it hit the wall. I'm guessing the lock engaged then. After I got ready for bed, I was still pissed so I slammed the door shut, just to vent a little. It wasn't until I tried to use it this morning that I realized the door was locked and I couldn't get in."

"You locked yourself out of your own bathroom," I summed up, amazed at the situations she managed to get herself into.

"Yes, and I've only got a limited window to get back in there before it becomes a true emergency," she confessed, sounding so small and alone. I hated hearing her sound like that.

"Do you have a hair pin?" I offered, hoping I could talk her through this on the phone. It would have been simpler to have her call Tank to have someone come over, but I liked the fact that she still considered me capable of helping her in any situation, and quite frankly, it felt damned good to feel useful at the moment.

I heard some banging around and then another sigh. "No, all my hair stuff is locked up in the bathroom. I'm stuck out here, aren't I?"

"Not necessarily. How about a paperclip, needle, or thin ice pick?" My mind was scrambling to come up with what she might have on hand that would work in this case.

"I'm not exactly Martha Stewart here, Ranger," she reminded me, basically ruling out an ice pick or needle. Before I could come up with anything else, she made a happy sound and added, "But I do have a paperclip on a file from Connie."

"Unfold it so that it's straight instead of curvy," I instructed, shutting my eyes and picturing what I needed her to do. It was so easy to visualize her standing in her apartment. I'd bet her eyes her squinted and her bottom lip was between her teeth as she concentrated on making the clip as straight as possible.

I waited, not wanting to rush this for any reason. Finally, she announced she had finished that, so I told her, "Hold the door knob to the bathroom with your left hand, and stick the end of the paperclip into the hole in the knob with your right."

There was a pause before she said, "Nothing's happening."

"Push harder," I told her, wondering why I'd never tried to teach her how to pick a lock before.

"Still nothing." She sounded disappointed, but I wasn't ready to call in backup yet.

"Take it out, and fold the clip in half so that the two ends are side by side," I instructed, hoping by doubling the surface pressing on the lock, she'd have more force to push the mechanism and release it.

"Okay," she said finally, letting me know when she had that much finished. "Do I stick it in again?"

"You're killing me with the innuendo of that sentence, Babe..." I didn't know why I was making jokes with her. I usually had better control over what I said around her. "Yes, try doing it again. When you feel it hit something, push against that, and you'll feel the lock pop out on the other side."

A quick breath across the receiver told me she'd done it. "It worked! I'm in." She sounded so genuinely happy. "Ummm..."

"What?" I couldn't figure out why she went from celebratory to awkward all of a sudden.

"Well, I can get in my bathroom now," she said as though speaking to a priest in the confessional.

"I thought that was the point."

"It was, but I can get in, and I _really_ need to get in," she finally explained the problem enough for me to understand.

"Relax, Babe," I said gently, trying to let her know I understood. "I know you need to go. Thanks for calling."

"Wait... Shouldn't I be thanking you?" she questioned. "You're the one that helped me."

"I could debate that, but we'll call it tie this time," I told her before deciding to surprise her by saying, "Bye, Steph."

I hit end on the phone, knowing that despite her many less-than-traditional characteristics, there was still a very modest part of her personality that wouldn't have allowed her to go to the bathroom if I was on the phone. I shook my head and marveled at all the contradictions contained in that small package.

"I'd love to see more of that expression on your face," came the familiar and slightly-rough voice of Henderson.

Despite the fact that I didn't usually share personal details, my mouth opened on its own and said, "I got a particularly amusing phone call this morning."

"Whoever it was, you should set them on speed dial," she advised, not really sounding like she was joking. "It's been almost a week of you with one bleak expression on your face – even when you were sleeping. It was nice to finally see something different."

Despite my initial slip, I was back in control and not willing to disclose any more details. Stephanie was my own paradise to get lost in, and speaking of her to anyone would take away the one thing I was holding most dear in my mind.

Henderson paused a few seconds, and then her expression moved to one that I definitely recognized. My first drill instructor had one just like it when he was about to demand we do something that he knew we wouldn't like.

"This morning, you're going to have a new visitor. It's a friend of mine named Johnson, who is going to begin some respiratory therapy with you. It's going to hurt like hell with your ribs in the shape they're in, but the amount of time you're spending on your back makes you susceptible to pneumonia, so we need to get your lungs cleared out and active. Obviously, she'll talk to you about letting the level of pain you can handle guide what you do. But I'm going to expect to hear from her that you made an attempt to cooperate." She spoke clearly, but there was an implied threat in her voice that amused me.

"You're used to having your orders obeyed, aren't you?" I wasn't insulting her; I was stating a fact as I saw it.

Her eyes narrowed, and I patiently waited for her to respond. "Actually, I'm fluent in seven languages and twelve different dialects so that I can speak in whatever way will bring about the desired outcome for each patient."

"Which one did you use on me?" I asked, hearing the tinge of sarcasm in her words and wondering if she'd take it all the way to a punch line.

After a pause, she deadpanned, "For people used to being in charge and having their every word clung to and obeyed, I pull out my knowledge of asshole with a touch of intimidation."

"Well-played," I complimented her, using all my skill to keep from grinning at her.

We stared at each other for a few minutes, but she broke first, and the left side of her lips began to quiver, obviously wanting to smile. "You're a piece of work," she accused before leaving me alone once more.

Unfortunately, I didn't stay in isolation for long because a woman with short hair that seemed to be standing up in all different directions moved into my field of vision. There was a name tag high on the left side of her chest that said Johnson, letting me know this was the therapist Henderson had warned me about.

"Manoso, I'm here to make your life easier," she said, as though everything we were about to do was going to be simple and pain free.

I raised an eyebrow at her and replied, "That's funny... I thought what you were going to have me do was going to hurt like hell and make me feel like the bomb was going off on my chest again."

She tilted her head to the side, like she was considering my words. "Well...I'm going to do that, too. But in the end, you'll be glad I was here."

"I'll have to hold off judgment on that until you're done," I replied, wondering why in the hell I was talking. This was dangerously close to chatting, and I didn't chat. Hell, why didn't I just turn on the television and find a daytime soap opera to watch next?

"That's more generous than most people are," she bit back, "so I suppose I should thank you."

After that, she slipped into all-business mode. Most of what she asked me to do wasn't a surprise. I blew in tubes, I took breaths and held them in before doing a slow release, and I spoke at various volumes. Just as Henderson had predicted, it all hurt, but I was still hardwired as a soldier, so giving up wasn't an option. I boxed up the signals in my brain that said this hurt, and accepted them as true but unimportant so that I could do whatever was asked of me.

When Johnson held up her hands announcing we were finished, I was shocked. It felt like we'd been working for a while, and because I actually had something to do, time didn't feel like it was standing still. When she packed up her gear and turned to leave, I asked, "You coming back tomorrow?"

"Yep; daily visits from me until you can sit up at a bare minimum. After that, we'll see what you need and find a way to meet it," she replied, mirroring the no-nonsense mannerism of the charge nurse I respected so much.

I waited until she was at the doorway to say, "Thanks."

"Told you I was going to make your life easier," she reminded me of her opening comment.

"I wouldn't exactly call that easy," I replied, still feeling the aching burn.

"Depends on how you define it," she countered. "But for the last hour, you've had a purpose besides just wasting away in that bed, so for the time I've been here, you haven't dwelt on anything but what we've been doing. For a guy like you, I'd bet that was a lot easier than doing nothing."

She didn't wait for me to respond before walking out the door. There was nothing for me to add anyway; she was exactly right.

By the time I'd been moved through the halls of the hospital to have an MRI done and then settled back in my room, I was thinking I might have to stoop to hitting the pain pump so take the edge off how I was feeling. While I was contemplating what to do, I moved my hand around on the mattress to be sure I had the phone accessible.

If I took some pain meds, they might make me cloudy enough to disclose more than I wanted to if Stephanie called me. Of course, I was basically saying I thought Stephanie would call again, and since we'd just spoken eight hours earlier, I had no reason to think she would pick up the phone soon. I hadn't put this much premeditation into my actions since I was in junior high, wondering if I should respond to a note from the girl I was majorly crushing on.

Henderson came in and did her efficient review of my vitals, made a note in my chart, and then asked if she could get me anything before leaving for the day.

"How strong are the pain meds hooked up to the pump?" I asked, not committing myself to using it.

"It's morphine," she replied, "and based on your size and injury, the allowable dosage is pretty high. Why?"

I grimaced, knowing that morphine had never been a friend of mine. Too much of it acted like truth serum in my system. I was glad I'd asked so I could avoid making a huge mistake.

Of course, Henderson noticed my expression and suggested, "I can get you something a little less intense to try to take the edge off. You'd still have to tolerate some discomfort, but it wouldn't knock you out the way morphine does."

During the second I paused to consider her request, she must have assumed I had agreed because her shoes squeaked out of the room. I shut my eyes and followed the sound of her returning, lifting my right hand to stop her. "I didn't agree to take anything."

"I'm leaving in five minutes," she countered. "You'll either take this from me, who you know isn't bullshitting you, or you can wait until you're really suffering and then risk that my replacement decides to override your wishes and give you something much stronger."

So this was what it felt like to be one of the guys at RangeMan. I'd been handing out commands long enough that I'd almost forgotten what it was like to have all your options taken away from you by someone that you actually wanted to follow. I let my hand fall and nodded my assent.

"Twenty minutes, and you should feel better," she said after pitching the needle in the biohazard container on the wall. "Moving you around for the tests this afternoon on top of your morning with Johnson was probably a bit much. There is an anti-inflammatory in your bag, but it isn't going to do much for pain. I'll leave a note in your chart that they can repeat this dose every four hours, so you may have someone checking in to see if you need it."

After she finished, she turned and walked away before I could thank her. I don't know that I would have said anything, but I still wondered if she moved out quickly to keep me from having to come up with something appropriate to say.

It didn't take long before I felt my muscles relax and warmth spread through my body. Despite the medication she'd given me not being morphine, it felt similar. I was pleased to note that I didn't necessarily feel like sleeping, so I was soothed by the idea that it was milder than what I would have gotten from the pump.

In order to keep my mind occupied, I began working through the staff at RangeMan and coming up with a new partner rotation, trying to figure out a way to reassign everybody without allowing any of the long-standing staff to partner up with someone they'd worked with before. Surprisingly, it was a much more challenging project than I thought it would be.

I had almost succeeded when my phone buzzed. "Yo," I resorted to my standard greeting without checking to see who was on the line.

"Hey, Ranger. It's Stephanie," came the voice I most loved to hear.

"You don't have to tell me it's you," I pointed out. "There's no way I'd mistake your voice."

"You sound different," she blurted out in that manner that could catch you off guard and put you at ease at the same time. "Are you all right?"

"Me?" I questioned to be sure who she was referring to. "Yeah, I'm good." At least, I was good at the moment with her talking to me.

"Have you been drinking?" Again with the direct questioning. It was like she'd taken a class from my Abuela Rosa in how to get someone to confess to an indiscretion without using violence.

"No. I rarely drink, and even when I do, it wouldn't be to excess if I was away from home," I pointed out.

"Things must be going well with your mission if you're this relaxed." She nearly giggled at the end.

"I don't think I would say everything has gone well, but at the moment, I am relaxed." I frowned, wondering why I was sharing so much with her. I'd completely lose the "man of mystery" title if I didn't shut up. Knowing the best way to keep from blurting out anything else would be to get her talking, I turned the table on her and asked, "Is everything okay with you?"

"Yeah, I'm good. I'm just on a stakeout, and I was getting bored so I thought I'd take a chance that you'd be able to chat for a while to keep me company," she explained.

"I don't usually chat," I reminded her, feeling like that was a safe admission.

"Couldn't you make an exception for me?" she pushed.

"Babe, you are an exception to just about every rule I have," I blurted out.

"Oh…well…I'm sorry to bother you." She sounded upset, and since I had no idea what had happened, the idea of her getting off the phone with things unsettled wasn't sitting well with me.

"Wait, why are you upset? And why do you think you're bothering me?" I asked.

"You said I made you break the rules," she pointed out. "I know how you feel about living by your rules, so I figured that was a bad thing."

I laughed a little at her comment, as though anything about her in my life was a bad thing. She'd done more good for me just by association than all the Army shrinks I'd been forced to blab to after each mission. "Babe, everything about you is a good thing to me. Now, relax and talk to me. Who are you looking for?"

There was a long enough pause that I wondered if she'd hung up. Knowing her, she was probably trying to analyze what I'd just said. I was having trouble remembering exactly what words I'd used or I'd have been doing the same thing. "You still with me?" I finally gave up and prompted her to speak once more.

"Huh? Oh, uh, yeah..." The way she stumbled told me I'd been right about what she'd been thinking about. "I'm trying to figure out if Joey Malone is still keeping office hours at the Hot Wax car wash on Fourth Street."

"That's not the best part of town," I reminded her. It wasn't Stark, but it was on the opposite side from the 'Burg.

"True, but I'm in a RangeMan vehicle, so I figure I'm covered," she explained, giving me an explanation I couldn't really argue with.

"If he's there, what are you going to do?" I didn't like the idea of her charging in to try to take down a minor mob player in the middle of an X-rated car wash.

"I'm going to wait until he leaves and then go talk to one of the girls to see when she thinks he'll come again. Whenever she suggests I come back, I'll see if I can talk one of the guys to coming here with me and providing a little backup."

That was a damn solid plan. "Proud of you, Babe."

She made a soft humming sound that was probably more an unconscious response to my praise than a message she'd intended to project. "I like to hear that."

"What else do you like to hear?" I asked, feeling my face smile. It felt odd, which either meant the drugs were much stronger than I'd first thought or I hadn't used those muscles in far too long.

There was a pause, so I waited, not wanting to rush this conversation and have it end sooner. Finally, she answered, "I like to hear the sound of an ice cream truck, the high-pitched scream of people riding a roller coaster, the crashing of the waves at Point Pleasant, and the really contented purring noise a cat makes when you're petting it and they're about to go to sleep in your lap."

"You like lots of things," I commented, not letting her know how much I loved answers like that. She told me so much about herself and probably didn't realize it.

"I like talking to you on the phone like this, too," she added, apparently encouraged by my comment enough to add to her list.

Before I could say anything in response, she made an undignified sound, prompting me to ask what happened.

"I wasn't paying attention, and the tiramisu I was eating fell off my fork and onto the seat of your vehicle."

I laughed, despite the discomfort it produced in my chest.

"Are you laughing at me?" She was obviously trying to sound outraged, but the smile on her face was big enough I could hear it through the phone.

"Only because if something like that happened, at least it occurred in a good place," I told her, wondering if she'd pick up on the joke.

"Why is a stakeout a good place to lose some of my favorite dessert and get a RangeMan car dirty?" She obviously didn't see where my mind had gone.

"When you're done working, you can take it right into the car wash," I pointed out.

She was quiet a moment and then confessed, "I don't know if they get the cars very clean. It has to be hard to scrub hubcaps with those barely-there uniforms creeping up on you." It took her about two seconds before she busted out laughing at her attempt to play innocent with me.

"Oh, I think I see Malone," she got serious and reported. "I should probably go so I don't get so distracted that I miss it when he leaves."

"Be safe, Babe," I told her before hanging up and having the image of Steph in one of the X-rated car wash uniforms. That wasn't exactly my scene, but I could commit to having my whole fleet of vehicles serviced there if it meant getting to see Stephanie dealing with a creeping uniform.

_**Stephanie's POV**_

I hung up the phone with Ranger and smiled. Despite what he said, something was definitely different. He wasn't slurring his words, and he said he hadn't been drinking, but he sounded too relaxed to just be hanging out, waiting for the next moment to save the world. Not that I was complaining, because he was certainly a lot more forthcoming. Of course, my less-than-perfect timing forced me to get off the phone so that I couldn't really take advantage of his looser lips.

I put my binoculars up to my eyes and then realized in the dark, you can't really see much through them. I wondered how the spies in movies were able to keep track of people in the dark. Maybe the next time I talked to Ranger, I could get him to explain that to me. Hopefully, it wouldn't be one of those secrets he'd have to end my life after telling me.

When Malone came out, I noticed he'd only been in there for thirty minutes. I was confused about why he'd gone if that was all the time he needed to finish whatever he was doing in there. He didn't even drive through, so it wasn't like he'd gotten his car cleaned.

Despite patience not really being one of my strong suits, I waited as patiently as possible, and seven minutes after he left the parking lot, I'd exhausted my ability to stay in the car any longer. Inside the Hot Wax was nothing like I'd expected. There was the smell of cleaner and sweet air freshener. I was greeted by two women with bodies that I knew I'd never have – not even if I let Bobby get his hands on me. There was a large window that provided a view of the car wash bay, which didn't have any vehicles in it, so there were girls in the scraps of cloth I believed they considered their uniforms just sitting around talking.

It only took five minutes to get the goods on Malone, and I left feeling like I was finally getting a handle on this bounty hunting business. I'd come up with a plan, worked it smoothly, and if all went well, after borrowing Vince for a little back up, by tomorrow night at this time, I'd have my biggest skip back in the system.

I wasn't sure if it was working at the RangeMan office this morning or the head-to-toe black I was wearing, but when I stepped out of the car wash, I felt like I belonged at RangeMan.

At least, I did until I felt something hard and cold being shoved into my back.

"Miss Plum, since you ignored my first message, I'm going to have to try again."


	5. Clear as Mud

_JE created all the characters you recognize below._

_Jenny (JenRar) thank you for your gentle corrections, helpful suggestions, and wisdom of all things grammar. Your work as the beta on this story is amazing._

**Chapter 5 – Clear as Mud**

_**Stephanie's POV**_

"Miss Plum, since you ignored my first message, I'm going to have to try again."

Damn, I'd been doing so well. I hated it when God taught me lessons like pride was a sin. It was dark, so a quick glance around didn't produce much I could use as a weapon to defend myself. If I got out of this alive, I needed to remember to come back here during the day and talk to the owners of the car wash. A few security lights would be worth every penny to make his parking lot a much safer place.

Despite my sudden interest in the security needs of a business, I supposed I wasn't as much RangeMan material as I'd thought. The second the thought crossed my mind, I smiled. I might be a screwup in that I hadn't picked up my .38 or remembered to charge my stun gun, but I had my cell phone, and in the hands of the right woman, it could be a weapon.

I'd spent enough time pushing numbers that I could feel them with the phone facing away from me to keep the light from the keypad from shining up and toward whoever was behind me. I had to assume it was Michael Miller, the idiot who had blown up my car. So far, the guys hadn't had much luck in bringing him in. I guess that was because he was following me around, waiting for an opportunity, instead of cowering in any of his usual hideouts.

Once I'd dialed what I knew was the main number at RangeMan, I decided to start talking in the hope that I hadn't hit a wrong digit and that they'd realize I was asking for help and send some sort of backup.

I decided to dust off my 'Burg manners and see if he'd respond in kind. "Mr. Miller, I don't think we've officially met."

"Cut the crap, Miss Plum." He obviously wasn't interested in keeping this civil. "I tried to warn you to stay away from Malone, but you had to prove something and keep tailing him, so I'm going to give you one more chance."

As he spoke the last line, he pressed the gun harder into my back. I knew I'd have a barrel-shaped bruise there in the morning.

"What is it that you want me to do?" I hoped I could buy a little time by playing stupid.

He huffed as though he didn't appreciate my game. "I want you to back off. Forget about Malone, and he'll forget about you. But if you keep following him around and trying to haul him in, then I'm going to have to seriously hurt you – well, worse than what I've got to do now. And if that happens, I'm not going to be happy because my mom will no doubt hear about it, and she won't like the idea of me hurting a girl."

"Would it be too much if I said I agreed with your mother?" I heard the nervousness in my voice, but there was nothing I could do to stop it. Once he mentioned having to hurt me now, I realized he wasn't there just to chat.

"Will you promise to leave Malone alone?" Miller asked, putting his mouth closer to my ear and digging in even more with his gun.

"He's an FTA; it's my job to bring him in. If I don't do it, then I can't pay my rent." I wasn't sure how long I could stall him, but I had to keep him talking as long as possible.

"If you're dead, you don't need to pay rent," he replied, as though that was a good reason to give up. In fairness, it was a great reason to give up; I was just too stubborn to admit it.

I tried to switch tactics. "Why do you care what happens to Malone?"

"He's given me the chance to do him a little favor, and in exchange, he's going to do something very generous for me. And I need him to do this very generous thing, so I need you to cooperate and leave him alone." Miller was getting riled up now that he'd spelled everything out for me.

"What are you going to do to me?" I asked, wondering if the guys had gotten my call and were on their way, or if I was stuck in this dark parking lot on my own about to be hurt with no chance of being discovered until the shift change inside a practically-naked car wash. My mother would never forgive me for being hurt in a place like this – and picturing how the headline would look in the paper, I couldn't really blame her. _"Bombshell Bounty Hunter gets Clock Cleaned at Adult Car __Wash."_ If they were feeling generous, that's all they'd say. If it was a slower news day, there was no telling how graphic they'd make the caption.

"I'm going to give you something as a reminder that there are things more important than bringing in Malone. If you have something else to think about, then you'll forget this job and move on," he explained, as though his plan were foolproof.

I wondered if there was a way to talk myself out of this mess. "If I promise to leave him alone, will you let me leave unharmed?" I had my fingers crossed, which he couldn't see in the dark; he didn't need to know I was lying about stopping my search.

There was a long enough pause that I felt like he was seriously considering it. Then he jabbed me once more and said, "I can't leave you unharmed because I have my orders and I have to follow them, but I can take it a little easier on you."

"How much easier?" I was pushing my luck, but I was worried how many degrees of hurt there were that he was considering.

"I'll just knock you out with the gun, but I won't actually shoot you," he said, nodding his head close enough to my ear I could feel the movement. His voice was much quieter, as well, but I couldn't tell if he was doing that to build the suspense and make himself seem more villainous, or if he was trying to keep anyone from overhearing him and reporting back to Malone that he hadn't done what he was apparently told to.

"How about you just slap me, and I'll fall down and pretend to be knocked out while you leave?" I offered as an alternative. I knew if I lost consciousness and Bobby heard about it, he'd force me to go to the hospital, and then there was no way I could keep that out of the papers.

"Quit treating me like I'm an idiot," he practically growled at me. "I've got the power here, and you have to do as I say."

Wow, I hadn't seen the pouting side of his personality before. It was like having a twelve-year-old threatening me.

I'd given up on the guys making it in time to be helpful, so I decided to completely change my game plan. "Okay, go ahead and do it so we can get this over with." If I was going to get hit over the head, I'd just as soon get it done so I could wake up and get home to ice it before anyone found me here.

He made a sound, as though he couldn't believe I was agreeing with his plan. "Huh..." But he didn't hesitate for long before letting go of my hand and saying, "Okay, stand still so I hit the right place the first time and I don't have to keep smacking you before you black out."

When he put it like that, standing very still sounded like a better idea than being repeatedly bludgeoned in the head. "Okay, I'm ready."

"I really appreciate you being so reasonable," he said in a much calmer voice. "And just so you don't worry, the guys told me how to do this so that I don't mess up your face."

"Oh." Well, I guess there really was a silver lining in every rain cloud. "In that case, go ahead."

He gripped my face, lifted my chin, and then brushed my hair back like he was trying to find my temple. I wasn't an expert, but in the movies when somebody was coldcocked, they were usually hit the back of the head. Hitting me in the temple would do some serious damage. I tried to be still, but the thought of him killing me when he thought he was knocking me out wasn't sitting well, so I turned my head toward him to find out exactly what the plan was.

As usual, my sense of timing sucked. From the corner of my eye, I saw two things at once. First, his hand, holding the barrel of the gun toward me, was already in motion, with an amazing amount of force. The second thing that I barely had time to register before the pain exploded in my forehead was that Hector and Bobby were only six feet behind Miller with their guns drawn.

I fell down as much from the force I'd been hit with as from the pain that seemed to be running down my head like water droplets would fall if it were raining. I could vaguely make out the sound of the guys shouting and a gun firing, but since I didn't feel any bullet holes, I had to assume one of the guys had shot Miller and he hadn't gotten a round off in addition to what he'd already done to my head.

A hand touched my head, and I attempted to lift my face in that direction to tell whoever was checking on me that I was okay, but the effort of lifting my head proved to be too much, and the blinking lights behind my eyelids went to all black.

The next time I was aware of anything, there was a very deep voice attempting to speak softly, which I assumed was because he knew I was going to wake up with a killer headache. He was telling someone that they couldn't switch shifts and that I'd made the schedule, so if they wanted to complain about it, they'd need to come to the infirmary and wait for me to regain consciousness.

When he snapped his phone shut, I attempted to scold him, "That's pretty low to use an injured girl as your scapegoat."

"She deserves it for getting herself knocked out as a weak ploy to get out of helping me with the growing mountain of paperwork in my office after promising to come back today," he countered, still whispering, but the relief was pouring through his voice, despite the low volume. "You are shaving years off my life, little girl."

"You get used to it," I attempted to joke. "I seem to have that effect on people."

"You're also going to get my ass kicked if you keep ditching your guards and pulling stunts like you did at the car wash." Tank was clearly trying to fuss at me, but his voice didn't hold any of the ferocity it did when he yelled at the guys. "Would taking a shadow with you really have been that difficult?"

"I was in a RangeMan truck, so I didn't think I'd actually snuck off anywhere. You could have tracked me." My reasoning had been sound at the time I'd snuck out during a shift change in my parking lot. Mr. Lobavitz's son was visiting him for the weekend, and he drove a black Explorer identical to the one Tank had lent to me. I guess the guys didn't think to verify the one that remained was from the company fleet. In light of what happened, I guess my need to get Malone on my own instead of using RangeMan to catch him wasn't my smartest move. At the time, sneaking away got me in touch with my sixteen-year-old self sneaking out at night for some fun. Come to think of it, that had never ended well for me, either.

The door to the room opened, which caused me to open my eyes and turn my head to see who had come in. Unfortunately, Miller had packed a really potent punch, and the room spun and some small gremlin seemed to think that stabbing my brain through my eyeballs was the right things to do in response, so I had to slam my eyes shut again and hope the new person spoke so that I could figure out who it was.

"Hey, Bomber." Bobby's soft voice was soothing on so many levels. I trusted him to take care of me, and when he sat beside me on the bed and began to softly press on my head, I knew I wasn't in the hospital. For some reason, every time he examined me at RangeMan, he sat on the bed with me, but at the hospital, he never did. I'd been meaning to ask why that was but figured he was in full medic mode, so interrupting him now probably wasn't wise. He picked that moment to hit a tender spot, and I gasped, attempting to pull my head back.

"Damn it," he muttered before adding, "I'm sorry, Steph. I know that hurts, but I've got to get a handle on the full extent of how bad it is so I can decide where to take you next."

I insisted on giving him a phrase he'd probably heard from me more times than he cared to remember. "No hospital."

"No hospital," he agreed quickly, which was a relief on so many levels. If Bobby was okay with me avoiding the ER, then my injuries couldn't be that severe. "But he did a bang-up job here, and there's going to be some serious bruising and maybe a scar at the top of your forehead. Your hair will probably cover it up, so you don't need to worry."

As always, Bobby was giving me the full scoop and doing it in a way that answered all my questions before I thought to ask them.

"We're going to have to keep an eye on you while you rest, though. Not sure if the jackass had enough force to give you a concussion, but my guess is he did. So, we'll let you rest, but I'm going to have to wake you up every so often and make you talk to me."

"Okay," I replied on a long exhale, already wanting to go back to sleep.

"Don't get mad at me when I wake you up the next time, all right?" Bobby pushed a little more, probably trying to be sure I could follow a conversation.

"No problem." I was willing to say just about anything if he'd let me rest now. I felt his lips softly touch my check followed by the ghost touch from his fingers.

"You can sleep now. We'll be right here," he promised, sending me off into slumber with the peace that came from knowing I was completely safe.

I had a vague memory of whining about people waking me up, but the next time I felt truly conscious, I slowly opened my eyes, blinking them to filter the light, and was thrilled when I only felt a mild throbbing at my temple. The view when I turned my head made me smile.

Tank was propped up in a straight-back chair, his head resting on the wall behind him, eyes completely shut and face relaxed enough that I knew he was asleep. Across from him, Bobby and Lester were sharing the small loveseat, both stretched out with their legs straight in front on them and their backs slouched down so their heads rested on the back of the seat. I couldn't tell which one was making the soft snoring sound on every inhale. It wasn't loud enough to be annoying but gave the room just enough sound to feel homey. My dad did the same thing when he fell asleep in front of the television, so it reminded me of that.

I turned so I was facing them and could appreciate the view they provided, but the bed squeaked when I moved, and the three of them went from out of it to fully alert in a split second. It was actually impressive, as I'd never been able to fight out of a deep sleep that fast.

"Hey, guys," I spoke quietly, not willing to risk starting the deep brain drilling that had been occurring in my head. If the workers were on break, I didn't want to call them back to resume their shift right now.

Bobby moved over and sat beside me, softly gripping my wrist to take my pulse. He had a way of doing the same kinds of checks they would do at the hospital, but when he did them, it just felt like a comforting gesture versus the medical procedure it would have come across as by someone else.

"You ready for some pain meds?" he asked, giving me the ability to control my treatment.

"Nothing too strong. I don't want to sleep right now," I offered, hoping he'd go along with it.

When he stood up and walked out, I assumed it was to get what I'd asked for and not that I'd offended him in some way.

"You gave us quite a scare last night, Beautiful," Lester spoke, the smile that usually resided on his face around the clock was gone, and I didn't like the idea that I'd made him so serious.

Bobby came in with a water bottle and something in a small white paper cup that I associated with ketchup in a fast food restaurant instead of a medicine dispenser. I guess Bobby's frame of reference was different from mine.

"Take all three," he said, giving me a look that told me he wasn't going to let me get away with challenging him this time. There were times when I could debate what I wanted, but sometimes, he drew lines in the sand that he wouldn't negotiate on, and these pills were one of those line. I dutifully took them all and then thanked him. He took his usual perch beside me so that he and Lester were flanking both sides.

I looked between them and smiled, thinking they were like life-sized stud muffin book ends. The only thing that would make it better would be to complete my collection by having Tank and Ranger both there, too. I had Tank, but Ranger was still in the wind so my complete collection would have to wait.

Of course, thinking about Ranger in the wind made me think about my phone. I didn't know where it was, which scared me because it was a tangible connection to Ranger while he was gone, and losing my phone made it feel like I'd lost Ranger, too.

"Hey, Beautiful..." Lester pushed my hair back away from my face. "What happened? Why the sudden change in mood?"

"Do you guys know where my phone is?" I asked, praying somebody from RangeMan had thought to pick it up when they were collecting me from the asphalt.

"It's in your purse, right there," Tank spoke, moving so that I could see him pointing to an empty chair that had my bag in it.

Relief flooded through me, and I shut my eyes to keep tears from forming and attempting to break free in front of the guys.

There was a brief moment of silence before Bobby spoke up. "Was there someone you needed to call?"

I shook my head no, still not feeling in control enough to open my eyes.

"Were you expecting someone to call you?" Lester followed up, obviously not willing to let my strange behavior go.

"Probably not," I answered as honestly as I could and then forced my eyes open, only having to blink three times before I felt in control of my emotions enough to stop worrying about breaking down.

I should have known Mr. Silent-but-Observant wouldn't let it go. "You have to do better than that. Why were you scared when you thought your phone was gone?"

Some decisions are easy to make because the right answer is the right answer. This one had an honest answer, and I knew I'd eventually have to come clean because the guys were making it obvious they weren't going to give up after my strange display of near emotion. But at the same time, I didn't want to tell them about my recent talks with Ranger. What if they didn't approve of us talking while their boss was on a mission? Would they make me stop calling him? Should I stop calling him anyway? He certainly sounded glad to hear my voice each time, but was I putting him in too much danger?

"If you said some of that shit out loud, we might have a better chance of helping," Tank said in a voice much kinder than his words fit into.

I blame whatever pills Bobby gave me for my mouth opening. "Ranger and I have been talking to each other every day this week. I wasn't sure how long I'd been asleep, but I didn't want to miss it if he called me, and if I'd lost my phone, I'd feel like I was losing him, too."

"You've been able to reach Ranger's cell phone?" Tank asked, looking confused.

I nodded, waiting for the yelling to begin as they lectured me on risking getting Ranger killed.

Instead, Tank followed up by wondering, "Did he sound okay?"

My eyes blinked a few times as I tried to make sense out of the sudden shift in questions. "He says he's fine, but he doesn't sound normal."

That got everybody's attention. "What do you mean by him not sounding normal?" Lester pushed.

I shrugged but knew they wouldn't let me leave it like that. "His voice is quieter than usual." That seemed like a safe place to start, but Lester's motion for me to say more let me know I needed to spill everything.

"He's wanted me to talk – rambling, really, and it's like he's hanging on every word, even though I'm not really telling him anything of substance. He said goodbye a couple of days ago before hanging up, which he never does. And then the last time we spoke, he sounded really relaxed and was answering my questions with real answers, which is almost more confusing than when he speaks in code. I asked him if he'd been drinking, and he told me no, but it was hard to believe because he was almost in a Mooner kind of chill."

"Did he answer every question you asked – like surprising you with what he told you kind of answering them?" Lester confused me by following up.

"Yeah, and then he turned the tables on me and asked me a question so that I started talking. After I realized what he'd done, I was going to try to get the spotlight back on him, but I spilled my tiramisu and Ranger started making jokes about me being in a dirty car wash, and then we got to laughing, and I missed the chance to get any more info out of him."

"You were eating tiramisu on a stakeout?" Tank asked, obviously thinking I needed some serious professional development.

Lester had done surveillance with me in the past, so it was easier for him to picture that, as he'd seen it with his own eyes. Instead, he picked up on something different. "Wait, Ranger was laughing?"

"Yeah. He's actually quite funny when he wants to be."

"Does he usually joke on the phone with you?" Bobby wondered.

"I wouldn't say never, but rarely isn't a stretch." I thought that covered it well. "That's why I hated that I had to get off the phone because it was like he would answer anything I asked, and I didn't have the chance to throw out any of the questions that I've wanted him to answer for a few years now."

"Morphine?" Bobby asked, not really directing to anyone.

I was about to remind him that he'd already given me pain meds, and morphine was definitely more than I wanted right now. But before I could say anything, Tank mumbled, "Sure as hell sounds like it."

"How long have you two been talking?" Lester asked. Obviously, the three of them didn't feel the need to include me in whatever their ESP conversation was about.

"A week." I wasn't sure if I was giving them information Ranger didn't want them to have, but I decided I wasn't answering anything else until they clued me in about what was going on.

"Did he say anything about his mission?" Tank questioned.

I shut my eyes, trying to bring back each conversation to see if I even knew the answer to that. I shook my head to clear it of any side thoughts and then grimaced as it hurt slightly. Once the flare up of pain died down, I opened my eyes and said, "I'm not telling you anything else until you tell me why you're so interested. He said I wasn't compromising his mission, and he asked me to talk to him, so I believed him when he said it was okay."

Bobby must have picked up on what I was implying because he picked up my hand and squeezed it. "Steph, we aren't saying you've done anything wrong. It's just that we're slightly worried about Ranger based on what you've said. Honestly, we're relived you've told us so we can make a few inquiries to see if we can get a status report from somebody. We assumed his mission would have him away from Trenton for a month longer, and he doesn't activate his sat phone to receive calls until he is clear to take personal calls. Based on the fact that you got through, even though it's really early, it makes us think he's not actually on his mission right now. That would either mean he finished early and is on his way home, he's been given a secondary mission that we don't know about, or that he got injured. Of those three, we'd prefer the first one, but based on how you're describing his behavior, I'd say the last one is more likely."

"You think Ranger is hurt?" I wasn't sure I'd followed everything Bobby had said.

"I'm saying it's a possibility," Bobby answered, trying to lessen the blow that Ranger was injured somewhere and by himself to deal with whatever was happening.

"Usually I get a call when he's cleared as done on a mission," Tank spoke up. "Ranger set that up a few years back. But when he's injured, I have to wait for Ranger to call me himself."

I decided this would be a good time to jump to a conclusion that aligned with what I wished was true. "Well, then, he must be all right if he hasn't contacted you."

"Hopefully," Lester agreed with me, although his face didn't appear to be buying what his mouth was saying.

The guys left me to rest some more, promising they'd let me know if they got any news about Ranger. As soon as the door closed, I got up and grabbed my phone to bring it into the bed with me. I knew it was ridiculous, and there was no reason to think it was going to ring anytime soon, but I wanted to be close to him right now, and holding the last thing that had brought me his voice helped me to calm down.

_**Ranger's POV**_

I woke up with a start, not sure why my heart was racing and my head hurt. I hadn't taken any more pain medication during the night so I didn't think I was having any kind of reaction to the drugs. It was only because I had years of training that I was able to get my breathing back under control so that gasps of air didn't cause any more pain than they already had in my still-healing ribs.

Scanning my memory, I realized it wasn't any kind of flashback dream that had jolted me, but when I woke, the first thing on my lips was a name: "Babe." I rationalized that she was fine and that I was only worried about Stephanie because I'd been using her as my connection to life outside the hospital. But the longer I tried to shovel that shit, the more it stunk of a lie. Deep inside, I knew something was wrong.

There was no reason to hold back. A press of her speed dial number had the phone connecting, and with only two rings, her sweet voice answered.

"Ranger, I'm so glad to hear from you," she said as though she was worried that she'd never talk to me again.

"Are you okay?" I blurted out, not even attempting to find out if her concern was out of fear for me or because something had happened to her.

"I'll be okay," she answered, not exactly soothing me with her answer. "I'm more interested in knowing how _you_ are."

I knew better than most just how bright Stephanie was. But her greatest strength laid in her ability to read people. My own skills were pretty good in that same area, and at the moment, I knew something had tipped her off and I wouldn't get away with trying to divert her attention from me. I had to either lie to her or refuse to answer, and neither one would sit well if she picked up on what I was doing.

The longer it took me to answer, the more she would be convinced something was wrong. The trouble was, I didn't know what to say.


	6. Making Sense Out of Madness

_Janet gets all the credit for the characters below._

_Jenny (JenRar) you get all the credit as the beta on this story. Thank you for all your hard work._

**Chapter 6 – Making Sense Out of Madness**

_**Ranger's POV**_

I decided to try once again to turn the tables on her, hoping she would open up and take the attention off me. "What do you mean, 'you'll be okay'?"

There was a pregnant enough pause on the phone that I was worried she was actually building up a head of steam over me ignoring her question. Finally, she said, "Let's make a deal, Ranger."

I was a good negotiator – actually, a damn _great_ negotiator – but every warning bell in my head was going off that negotiating with Stephanie Plum had certain disaster written all over it. What she might not have in experience, she certainly made up for in cunning, and at the moment, I had a feeling she was motivated to get something she wanted, so her persistence wasn't going to work in my favor. "What kind of a deal?" As much as I might want to ignore her statement, I knew I couldn't.

"I think both of us have things going on that we don't really want to talk about," she began, somehow finding a way to hook my interest on every possible level. I didn't like the idea of her intentionally keeping things from me, even though I knew it was a double standard.

"What are you proposing?" I figured if she started the conversation the way she had, most likely she'd already worked out the ultimate outcome in her mind, and I needed to know what that was so I could come up with a counter position to propose.

"I'm in the infirmary at RangeMan, and Bobby won't let me leave yet, so I've got some time to kill, which I'd love to spend talking to you."

"Good," I interrupted. "You can start by telling me why Bobby won't let you leave. How injured are you?"

My body may not have been under my full control, but I could still muster up a head of steam over the idea of someone hurting Stephanie.

"I'll be glad to tell you every single detail – the entire story, not leaving out a thing – if you answer one yes or no question honestly for me."

Ah, now we'd gotten to the deal. "You know there are some questions I'm not legally allowed to answer." I wasn't enough of a pussy to cross my fingers in the hope that luck would be on my side enough to be able to answer her question with the classified information response, but I had to at least throw it out there.

"I'll give you the question up front, and you can let me know what you think," she replied calmly, knocking down my confidence that what she wanted to know was something I'd be able to avoid answering.

"Let's hear the question first, then," I prompted.

"Are you currently injured?"

There's a query I didn't want to answer because despite her saying she didn't need anything more than a yes or no response, I knew the truth would spur more questions.

Still, I needed to know what was wrong with her, so I swallowed my pride and said, "Can I trust that this conversation is just between you and me and won't go straight to the core team?"

"Of course." She stated it quickly enough that I could almost hear some hurt in her voice that I'd even asked if I could trust her.

"Then, in that case, the answer to your question is yes," I told her and then shut my eyes, waiting for the barrage of questions that would no doubt come.

"Michael Miller was waiting for me at the Hot Wax car wash," she jumped in, surprising me that she didn't push for any details. I had to force myself to listen because I was so caught off guard by her lack of follow up to my response. "I went in after Malone left and got the intel I needed to go back and capture him. When I walked out, Miller was there and put a gun in my back to make the point that he wanted me to stop trying to bring in Malone. Then, after we discussed it, he agreed to only slightly hurt me instead of doing what he'd planned on, which was to knock me out and then shoot me while I was unconscious. I guess I should be grateful that he only knocked me out."

"Why is Bobby forcing you to stay there?" I asked when she stopped talking.

"I was afraid that Miller was going to hit me in the temple, which worried me that he might kill me instead of just turning off the lights, so I turned my head at the last minute, and the force of the blow hit just above my temple, giving me a small row of stitches at the hair line and a minor concussion."

"How did the guys know to come get you?" I was picturing her unconscious on the ground outside of the Hot Wax and wondering what her mother was doing after the headline that had to have appeared on the front page of the newspaper. The horrible puns that a bored copy editor could come up with were flooding my brain.

"I kept him talking and called the control room with my cell phone, just leaving the line open and hoping they could tell what was going on from the side of the conversation they could hear."

It always amazed me how people discounted her skills because of her lack of formal training. When it came down to it, few people could beat Stephanie for thinking on their feet. I would have preferred she had a panic button on her, but it seemed as though her ability to think fast proved that unnecessary.

"You were right to turn your head," I assured her. "Your head may hurt now, but your skull did exactly what it was supposed to in order to protect your brain." After a pause, I wondered, "Has Bobby given you any indication of when he'll let you go?"

"Assuming I do okay through the rest of the night, he'll let me out of here tomorrow," she explained. "Although, it wouldn't surprise me if he made up some phony excuse to try to keep me in the building."

"Why do you say that?" In many ways, I hoped she was right.

"They weren't too happy about Miller getting a hold of me outside the car wash. I know that they took care of him, but I think they're worried about what lengths Malone would go through to ensure I left him alone," she explained, given me plenty of reasons to agree that Steph needed to be locked down in the building.

"Is there any chance you might volunteer to stay in my apartment on seven?" I offered, figuring she'd decline but wishing she'd accept it just this once.

"With Miller out of the picture, I don't see much reason. Nobody has bothered my apartment, so where I sleep really doesn't make that much difference," she rationalized. "Besides, I'd still go out during the day, and that's when the major danger seems to manifest itself."

"Which means you won't get in the way if Tank tries to assign you a shadow, right?" I knew I was pushing, which was always a risky thing with Steph. It didn't take much to make her tell you to go to hell, and I was walking a dangerous line in trying to make her bend to what I wanted her to do.

"He already did, but I got away from them," she replied, almost sounding proud of herself.

"Do I want to know how you did that?"

"Probably not," she answered quickly. "I didn't do anything sneaky; I just took advantage of them being distracted."

There was silence on the phone while I tried to figure out if there was an appropriate response to that piece of information. I couldn't really call anyone to the mats right now. Hell, depending on the next couple of days, that might have to be removed from my list of motivation techniques permanently.

"If anything happens at your apartment, will you promise to come back to RangeMan and stay on seven?" I figured if I couldn't get her to agree now, I needed at least a provisional understanding that she would take her safety seriously.

"Aren't you coming home soon?" she turned the tables to ask. "I don't want to be bunking in your bed when you need it yourself."

The image of her in my bed when I returned home was the kind of picture that could keep me warm on cold nights in the field. Remembering that I wouldn't have any nights in the field anytime soon snapped me out of those kinds of thoughts. "I won't be coming home anytime soon, so you'll probably be through the Malone concerns before I'd get there." After a pause, I added, "But if you'd promise to be there, I can tell you it would serve as one hell of a motivator to get home sooner in the hope of seeing you there."

A warm sound came through the phone, as though she liked the idea of being discovered in my bed. "Are you sure you'd be happy? It seems to me you once contemplated throwing me out the window when you came home and found me in your bed."

"It was a short contemplation," I replied dryly. "And hopefully, you also remember I climbed in with you."

Another sound of agreement told me she liked the fact that I'd joined her that night. "If my apartment becomes unsafe, then I'll stay in yours as long as I think there's still a threat," she finally said.

"Can we talk about what compromises a threat?" I needed to be sure she would take this seriously. "If you think Rex might not be safe, then would you agree to come to Haywood?" She loved that rodent, and on more than one occasion, I knew she'd taken him to her sister's house to stay when she was worried about a skip breaking in and hurting him when she was gone.

"Can't I just bring him to Haywood and then stay in my apartment until it's not safe for me?"

I knew I had her on this one. "No, it's a package deal. If I take the rat, then I get you, too," I told her.

"But you said you wouldn't be here," she argued, sounding slightly whiney. In most women, I found that tone irritating. In Stephanie, I thought it was funny because it told me I'd already won the argument if she was complaining about it.

"My apartment, my rules," I countered, not able to stop the laugh from escaping.

"I'm glad you find this amusing," she jumped in. Actually, nothing about her safety was humorous. "Fine, I'll do it." Obviously, she was more resigned than thrilled about our deal. "But only because the fact that you're so good at arguing with me tells me you're not as injured as I thought you might be. I'll humor you on this one and will come to seven if I think my apartment isn't safe enough for Rex."

"I've never been so injured that I wouldn't want you in my bed," I told her, hoping that would be enough innuendo to get her off the specifics of my injury. In truth, as much as I might love to see her right now, there was no way I'd let her even near my bed. I could barely stand the sight of myself at the moment, and there's no way in hell I'd let her see me like this.

There was a muffled noise through the receiver, and then she said, "Bobby seems to think I need regular check ups, and he wants to give me an exam now." I wasn't sure if that meant she wanted to get off the phone or if she was just explaining the extra voice in the background.

"I'll let you go," I told her, not wanting to stop talking but not willing to have Bobby grab the phone and attempt to get the whole story from me, either. If he knew I was able to talk to her, it wouldn't take much for him to piece together why. I might be able to distract Stephanie from my condition, but Brown wasn't as easily put off.

She didn't disagree, but she didn't tell me goodbye, either.

"I may not want to talk to the guys, but you can call me anytime you want to talk, Babe," I assured her, hoping she'd be willing to call me again sooner rather than later. I'd done well so far in my confinement, but I also knew I had limits, and being contained to a small set of walls wasn't going to work for me much longer.

"The next time we talk, you're going to explain that to me," she threatened, obviously wanting to know why I didn't want to talk to the guys I trusted most.

"I have no doubt you'll remind me." With that, I hung up, knowing she was probably irritated that I didn't tell her goodbye. It wouldn't be that hard to use some kind of closing words, but half the time, I intentionally refused to do it just because the mental image of her glaring at the phone was funny to me. Why people thought I had no sense of humor was beyond me.

After hanging up, I tried to work out what I would tell her the next time we spoke about my aversion to talking to anyone from RangeMan. How could I explain my situation without lying to her and without alarming her to the point that she ran straight to the people I was attempting to avoid?

Most likely, they knew that she and I were talking on the phone, and they were all smart enough to work out what that would mean. I needed to put a call into my handler for this mission to be sure he remembered that when I was injured, any status updates out were on a need-to-know basis, and since I was awake and in control, nobody needed to know where I was or how banged up I'd gotten.

Talking to Stephanie always made me feel alert and alive, but the idea of calling the bureaucrat that handled my assignments had me feeling exhausted. Still, I knew the time I had to get in front of Tank was probably limited, so I raised the phone and found his encrypted contact information.

After entering all the access codes and passwords, I was finally connected to the man himself. The fact that he answered right away told me he didn't have enough to do. Paper pushers didn't understand what it was like to truly be busy, yet everyone I'd encountered always tried to convince me I was lucky to be out in the field instead of buried with all the tasks they were. Maybe I didn't have the ability to empathize. It wouldn't be the first emotional issue I'd been accused of having.

"Manoso, to what do I owe the pleasure of your call?" He was too damn happy; it made me trust him even less.

"Just checking in to remind you of the conditions for releasing information on me to any outside party," I jumped right in and said.

"It's interesting you would reach out now, because I've gotten two calls about you already today," he reported back, making me hold back a string of expletives that I hadn't gotten to him first.

"What did you tell them?" If I knew how bad he'd screwed this up for me, then I could use my abundant free time to come up with a counterresponse.

"Relax..." The familiarity with which he spoke was pissing me off. "Your file is specific about how to handle the release of details. I told your second-in-command on the civilian side that you were still on assignment, and even though the details of your assignment had changed, you were not free to engage in your life stateside yet."

All in all, that wasn't a bad answer. It didn't confirm or deny I was injured, and it gave Trenton the possibility that I'd been reassigned. I decided since he'd given an acceptable response, I wouldn't jump on him for the way he'd referred to Tank as my second on the civilian side. As far as I was concerned, he was a lot more of a civilian than Tank would ever be. Pushing papers hardly counted as combat, and Tank was usually dodging bullets at least once a month – assuming Stephanie didn't have any crazies. In lieu of her current status, he might be seeing battle time more than usual.

I needed to find out who else had attempted to check in. "You said you had two calls."

"The second was from someone under me who was attempting to find out if you might be available for reassignment," he explained, almost sounding like he was bragging about how clever he'd been. I would have interrupted and knocked his pride down to a more acceptable level, but I needed the information more than I needed this prick to learn his place. "I saw he didn't have any missions open in the system, so I knew he'd been asked to call about your status. I told him the same thing I'd told your contact and hinted that what you were working on now was completely classified. His pay grade is below mine, so he can't access my open files to verify that as true or not."

"That was accurate." Because I'd ordered that no details about my condition could be released, my convalescence was confidential information.

"Relax, I know how to do my job," he said, attempting to put me in my place. It would have been so easy to argue that point. The fact I was in this hospital bed was proof that something in my briefing from him had been missing vital information. Biting my tongue, I figured it was probably in my best interest to stay on his good side, at least until I decided what my future held.

After speaking with him, I relaxed in what the outside world would be able to pick up about my condition. Before my body could get used to the absence of stress, Henderson walked in.

"All right, Manoso, the MRI results are back, and the doctor is pleased enough with how things are progressing that he wants us to start moving you a bit. So today, we're going to raise you up from the flat position you've been maintaining and see what happens."

"You make me sound like a science experiment," I pointed out.

"Medicine is a science, not an exact art, no matter what we may fool ourselves into believing," she reminded me. "No matter what, you can't stay flat on your back, so the sooner we get you moving, the sooner we can begin to guess what the ultimate outcome of your injuries will be."

It was strange that I'd been trying to keep from going insane staring at the ceiling, wishing I could just know one way or the other what my ultimate fate would be. And now that the time seemed to be coming quickly for me to find it out, I wasn't as eager as I'd thought I'd be.

"Relax. At the worst, it may hurt like hell," she stated, as though that were somehow preferable.

"You don't have a second career in marketing," I joked.

She pulled her hands away from the work they'd been doing and laughed. "No shock there." Once she'd pulled herself together, she got back to work, moving efficiently and prepping my back to be bent for the first time since I'd gotten out of surgery.

"Your sutures all look good, so there might be a little pulling just because the skin hasn't had any tension on it, but I don't think you need to worry about it. The ribs are going to protest, and the rest is a crap shoot about what you'll feel or not feel."

I nodded that I understood, but she wasn't done yet.

"This isn't one of those tough guy moments where you pretend it's all okay because you can grit through the pain. If you feel anything – stabbing agony, throbbing, pins and needles, or a lack of anything – I need to know. The only way I can help you is if you hold nothing back."

"Got it. I can bitch at you and consider it assisting in my recovery instead of complaining," I summed up.

She laughed again, and as the bed began to shift, moving my back so that I was in a seated position, she murmured, "I like you."

Before I had to figure out if that comment required a response, she stepped back and said, "All right, let's stop with that and assess how you're feeling."

I thought about it, wanting to give her the truth. My ribs felt like I'd been punched anew, exactly as I'd expected them to. The movements to my arm made it throb, but it was manageable. My left leg was strangely quiet, and my right seemed to feel like it was asleep. I wasn't feeling anything in it, but I had the impression that if I attempted to lift the cast, my body would struggle to follow the command because of compromised blood flow, not a real lack of sensation. After attempting to explain all that to Henderson, she nodded and then proceeded to move the bed into a more upright position.

This time when she stepped back, she didn't wait for an update before telling me, "All right, hang out like this for an hour, and I'll be back to lower you down a little. We'll talk about any changes then. In the meantime, if you need some meds to stay on top of the pain, all you have to do is hit the pump or call me back and I'll give you something milder."

She had a look on her face, as though she knew full well I wasn't going to use the pump. It was a good thing because even though this wasn't the most comfortable position I'd ever been in, it wasn't the worst, either. And after trying to figure out how I was doing for so long, even the discomfort I was experiencing was welcome. I was alive and had the pain in my body to prove it.

_**Stephanie's POV**_

I hung up the phone after Ranger and glared at it, briefly wondering why it was so hard for him to simply say goodbye. Having Bobby in the room with me kept me from dwelling on the question much longer, though.

Ranger had made it clear that he didn't want the guys to know he was injured. I didn't have the freedom to tell him they probably already knew that based on our previous conversation, but I intended to honor what he asked of me from this point forward and not confirm that he was hurt. At least until I understood why he didn't want them to know. I figured he had a good explanation, but until I heard it, I was suspicious of what it might mean.

Bobby pressed around on my head, and while it was still tender, I was pleased that it didn't have the same stabbing pain it had the last time he'd done it.

Once he'd satisfied himself with all the things he needed to examine, he sat back and looked at me. "How are you doing, Bomber?"

"Aren't you supposed to tell me the answer to that?" I teased.

"Medically, you'll be fine," he replied with a smile. "I was curious if there was anything else you were worried about."

I couldn't tell for sure if he was fishing for information about Ranger. The guys could be subtle when they needed to, and I was instantly on guard for him to try to get details about my phone call when he walked in. "I'm worried about making my rent if I don't catch up with Malone soon."

The look on Bobby's face told me he hadn't expected that response. "But if you go after him, you'll let somebody from here go with you, right? I mean, you won't try to take him down directly alone, will you?"

"Relax," I assured him. "I'm headstrong, but not stupid. I'll take back up."

The relief on his face was almost comical. "It's not that I doubt your ability to find him; it's just that he's proven he isn't opposed to hurting you, and I hate to think what he's capable of if he has the chance to pass along his own message face to face instead of sending someone as inept as Miller to do it."

My head had just enough pain to tell me if Miller was what the guys considered inept, then I had no business trying to go face to face with a guy who knew how to deal out pain.

"Now..." He was obviously about the switch subjects. "What can you tell me about Ranger?"

How did you tell a man who had probably saved your life on more than one occasion that you couldn't – or rather, wouldn't – answer his simple question? I wasn't exactly known for my ability to mislead people, especially the guys who knew me well enough to read my face and know when I was lying.

"Would you believe me if I said there is nothing I _can_ tell you about him?"

"Damn it," Bobby replied, making me wince at the idea of upsetting one of the guys I cared so much for. He noticed my reaction and instantly reached out to run a calming hand down my upper arm. "I'm not upset with you," he assured me. "But if Ranger has told you not to tell us anything, then the only reason I can come up with for it is that his injury is bad enough he doesn't know how things are going to turn out."

Could that be true? Could Ranger be fighting for his life while I just rambled on about nothing important?

"Hey," Bobby spoke to get my attention once more. "The fact that he's talking to you has to be good. If it were that bad, he would cut himself off completely from all of us."

He stood up and made his way to the door before spinning back around. "But if there is anything – any small detail that you think you could tell me without breaking whatever trust he's put into you – then I'd been grateful. Ranger's like a brother to me, and it's hard not knowing what's going on." Without giving me a chance to even consider his words, much less respond to them, he walked out, letting the door close behind him.

Great... Now I had worry over what was going on with Ranger to mix with the guilt of not spilling everything I knew or suspected to the guys. The next time we spoke, Ranger was going to have to share a little more. There was no way I was going to let the guys worry around here if I had it within me to spare them.


	7. Secrets

_The recognizable characters below were created by JE._

_Jenny (JenRar), I am constantly amazed at your skill as a beta. Thank you for continuing to work with me on this story._

**Chapter 7 - Secrets**

_**Stephanie's POV**_

The smooth voice I knew so well answered before a full ring had sounded in my ear. I barely waited for his monosyllabic greeting before jumping in. "I know I gave you my word, but I need to take it back."

A sound, not fully a laugh but definitely amused, came across the phone first before Ranger asked, "Can you give me any more details than that so we can discuss why you're so eager to break your word to me? That's serious business, Babe; a person's word is their oath." Despite the seriousness of his words, his tone told me he was definitely enjoying himself.

"You know I came over yesterday and moved into your apartment temporarily because I didn't think it was safe to keep Rex at my apartment," I figured if I reviewed the facts, he'd agree with me and then keep on agreeing as I moved into the current situation I was in. Someone had broken into my apartment and busted the lock on the door. I was all for just buying a six-pack to pay off Dillon to replace it, but the guys seemed to think it was an attempt to get to me and I was lucky to have been gone when it happened. My first thought was to get Rex out of there, which meant I had to move to seven because I'd promised I would when the time came that I didn't think my little hamster was safe at my place.

He made a sound to let me know he was keeping up, so I continued, "I was completely asleep when I felt hands on my back and heard a familiar voice telling me it was time to wake up."

"Who the hell was in my apartment?" Ranger barked out, every trace of humor gone completely.

"I'm getting to it," I told him, not willing to let him interrupt. Hopefully if he was irritated at that idea, then what happened next would pull him to my side. "I rolled over in the darkness and found Bobby and Lester on either side of me, trying to convince me that because I was staying on RangeMan premises that I had to get up and come to the gym with them to work out."

"Did they leave?" He didn't sound as pissed as he had at first, but he definitely wasn't back to what seemed to be his new normal, either.

"Yes, so I rolled back over and went to sleep. Then the next thing I knew, they were back again, but the sun was coming in the windows, so I figured I'd slept for a while so it was probably time to wake up."

"You want to leave my apartment because they didn't respect your privacy?" He was trying to figure out what had me up in arms.

"Sort of... Well, not exactly." I decided to just keep explaining and hoped he caught up. "When they came back the second time, I was still tired and slow to wake up, but Lester had a jelly doughnut in his hand and was talking to me while moving it. I realized that the sugar they'd sprinkled on top of it was bigger than the granulated stuff they usually use, and between the way he was moving it and the sun coming through the window, I noticed patterns of color in the sugar crystals."

"Wait," he jumped in once more, but with just that single word, I could hear the smile in his voice again. "You want to leave my apartment because Lester brought you a doughnut that had sugar on top big enough to work as a prism."

"Stop interrupting me," I all but shouted. "I knew Lester was talking, but I wasn't paying attention to him, except at the end when he held the doughnut toward me and asked if it sounded good to me. The doughnut sounded wonderful to me, so I grabbed it and carefully ate it to keep any of the sugar or jelly from getting on the sheets."

That time, I know I heard him laugh, but I couldn't fuss at him for it. It sounded silly when I said it out loud, but I wanted him to know I was being careful while I was staying in his apartment. Of all the things in his home I wanted to protect, his sheets were on the top of my list.

"As soon as I finished licking the jelly off my fingers, Les grabbed my wrist and started hauling me off the bed. When I fought him on it and asked what he was doing, he looked at Bobby, who just shook his head and walked away. Apparently, when I'd been focused on the Technicolor sugar show, Les had been saying he wanted to make a deal with me, and he'd give me a doughnut to eat if I'd go down to the gym with him and Bobby and work on a few self-defense moves with them. And since I ate the doughnut, they were trying to enforce what he called _our agreement_."

"So, did you go?" Ranger asked, laughing at the end. Clearly, he'd lost any edge of anger he'd had at the beginning of the conversation.

"I didn't have a choice, did I?" I bit back, sounding a little more irritated than was probably necessary. "I figured it wouldn't be that big of a deal, and in the end, I was awake anyway; plus, the whole thing with Malone makes learning a few self-defense moves a good idea, so I went."

"How was it?" This time, he wasn't laughing. Ranger might joke about doughnuts, but never about safety. In my opinion, he had the two priorities backwards, but this probably wasn't the time to argue about it.

"The first twenty minutes were okay. I mean, I wouldn't call it fun, but they gave me stuff besides my trusty knee-to-the-balls approach to bring someone down, so I learned a few things." In truth, I'd leaned a lot of stuff, but I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of admitting it. "It's what happened after the self-defense lesson that pissed me off."

There was a brief pause before he asked, "What did they do?" Each word was separated by a pause, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up, like I imagined it would if I turned the corner and came face to face with a dangerous animal.

I'd picked up the phone to complain about my morning and potentially get a little pity from the man I'd been talking to more lately while he was who-knows-where than I did when he was just six miles down the road in Trenton. As much as I wanted him on my side, I didn't want to get Les and Bobby in too much trouble, either.

"Bobby said that even though I had some of the moves down pat, I needed to work on my strength to perform them with greater force, and my speed and endurance had to be built up so that I could increase my chances of getting away from anyone that had been attempting to hurt me. In order to do that, they said part of my self-defense lesson was spending time on a few of the weight machines and then doing a fast walk on the treadmill."

"Bobby wanted you to walk?" Ranger sounded like he was struggling to picture that.

"No, he wanted me to jog. I told him I was leaving, so he asked if we could meet in the middle and I could just walk faster than normal," I explained, getting a sound back that made me think he found that easier to picture.

"How did you do?" The temper had disappeared in his voice.

Letting out a less-than-ladylike breath probably gave him his answer, but I felt the need to expound upon it. "My arms are already sore, and I had to take a shower before calling you because there was nothing dignified about the amount of sweat I was sporting."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there," he said in a slightly lower voice.

"Would you have told them to leave me alone?" I asked, thinking I'd jumped to the wrong conclusion about how understanding he was going to be.

"No, but I would helped you wash your back in the shower," he teased me before adding, "You know I'm great in the shower, Babe."

All the frustration I'd been feeling was completely gone at hearing him joke with me. "I do recall you saying it, but since I don't really have any firsthand knowledge, I can't say whether or not it's true." He was far enough away that I figured I was safe in pulling the tiger's tail.

"If I get home, then how about I give you the chance to see firsthand what I'm capable of when I'm surrounded by steam and showerheads?" he offered, his voice nearly an octave lower than usual, which did something interesting to the nerves directly between my legs. Before I was too far gone picturing him in the shower with me and the shower gel I loved so much, all of what he said hit me.

"What do you mean,_ if_ you get home?" I blurted out. "Don't you mean _when_ you get home?"

He didn't speak as quickly as I would have liked him to, but his words were what I needed to hear. "I just meant if I got home while you were still on seven. If you go back to your place, then I won't be able to show off my skills as easily."

A part of me wanted to question if that was what he'd really meant, but something in my gut told me to keep my mouth shut. Ranger wasn't a man used to being questioned, and just because he gave me certain liberties that he didn't allow anyone else didn't mean he would appreciate being pushed about his meaning. I'd had enough confusing conversations with him to prove that he liked to keep his intentions to himself.

"Did you do everything they asked you to, or did you stop?" he asked, probably trying to turn the conversation away from him.

"I did it all." At least I had the satisfaction of saying I hadn't let them beat me. "I complained about it a little, but I didn't give up."

"Are you going to let them work with you any more?" Clearly he was pushing for something here, but I wasn't sure how much I was willing to commit to.

I thought I'd see what it was like to turn the tables on him for a change. "Do you have interest in making another deal with me?"

"What kind of a deal?"

I needed to learn some of the caution he used when faced with a situation like this. I would have jumped right in, but he held back. That's probably why, despite all he'd been through, my body had more scars than his did.

"I want to ask you a yes or no question, and if you answer it honestly, then I'll go back to the gym with Les and Bobby tomorrow."

"Will you let me know the question before I agree like you did the last time?" He was too good at this negotiating stuff.

"You told me the last time we negotiated that you were currently injured, but this time, I want to know if your injuries are serious."

"Define serious," he responded, catching me off guard.

"You know...serious, life-threatening, grave, likely to prevent you from ever making it home..." I wasn't sure how else to explain what I'd meant.

"No."

One word. After all the possibilities I'd given him, he answered me with just a single syllable. I guess since it was the answer I was looking for, I shouldn't complain.

"Okay." I decided the only way I could keep pumping him for information in the future was if I held true to my word and didn't push for more once he gave me my yes or no answer.

"Okay, what?" Ranger sounded cautious about my short response.

"Okay, I'll go to the gym with Lester and Bobby," I explained. "But I'm not going before nine o'clock. They can just forget the middle of the night wake up call at five in the morning like they tried today."

Again, the laughter I loved but heard less than I wanted met my ears. "I think that's a fair bargain." When he stopped chuckling, he endeared himself even more to me, "Hey, Babe, you should know that Lester's food weakness is fried cheese sticks dipped in marinara sauce."

"Lester likes Italian food?" I don't know why that seemed out of character to me. Les had hair that was a mixture of colors but ended with lighter color tips. I'd never seen any changes in it, leading me to believe he didn't go to a salon to achieve that effect, but I'd never known anyone blessed with those kinds of highlights naturally. His skin was much darker than mine, but nowhere near as dark as Ranger's. And even though he seemed to speak perfect Spanish, I'd heard him speaking in Italian with my Dad once, and it sounded every bit as natural coming from him as Spanish or English did. He was either one big genetic mixing pot, or he'd learned to chameleon himself in order to blend into any circumstance.

Ranger pulled me from my mental inspection of the RangeMan funny guy. "He loves cheese sticks, but he never eats them in public because the first time he ever tried them was in a restaurant, and the second he took his first bite, his eyes shut and he started making noises like you do at Pino's. The guys at the table gave him hell about getting turned on with a stick in his mouth, and from there, it just went downhill. There's a place in Georgia that makes his favorite ones, and he always gets an order to go and then eats them alone when no one is around to give him hell."

"Why are you sharing this with me?" My mind was coming up with all kinds of ways to use the information, but I was curious about what made him disclose something personal about one of his closest men.

"As much as I appreciate the guys looking out for you, I think the way he tricked you is stepping over a line. I don't suggest you get into a series of pranks with Les because he can be cruel, but if you wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine, cheese sticks with a good sauce to dip them in is your best bet of distracting him."

"You just went to the top of my Christmas card list," I blurted out, grinning like an idiot.

"You send out Christmas cards?" Ranger asked, obviously trying to figure out why he'd never gotten one from me before.

"No, but I do keep a mental list of people I would send them to if I was as organized as Valerie or my mother. And after that little piece of information, you are my favorite guy of all, so you're definitely at the top of that list."

"Before I gave you intel about the enemy, who was at the top?" I could tell he was trying to keep his voice light, but there was something about the tightness that came out anyway that told me he was very interested in the answer.

"Tony."

"Who's Tony?" Ranger practically barked out.

"Tony is the man who makes the meatballs at Pino's."

More laughter came through the phone, and my grin grew. "Tony is nearly three hundred pounds and not as tall as I am." That was the guy.

"I never said he was a looker. But when I go to him, desperate, he never lets me down. I always leave with a satisfied smile on my face. There aren't many other people I could say the same thing about."

"Not many?" Ranger had lost all hint of teasing, and if he were standing in front of me, I had no doubt I'd feel the tingles on my neck start to increase.

"Just one, really," I disclosed, trying to keep myself calm despite where he was trying to force the conversation to go.

"Morelli that good?" Ranger pushed a little more, sounded slightly defeated.

"No—" I let the word hang out there for a moment "—he isn't." That seemed to have stunned Ranger into silence, which would have been loads of fun in person, but on the phone, I couldn't see his face to know if I'd gotten my point across. "Only you."

"Babe," he replied, using the one word he could turn into just about anything.

A sound came through the phone from his end of the line. When he spoke again, his voice sounded very different. "I have to go. Duty calls."

"No rest for the weary?" I attempted to joke to let him know I wasn't upset about him ending the call.

"Something like that," he replied, leaving me slightly confused that we weren't really talking about the same thing. "I'll talk to you later, Babe."

Before I could get over my stunned silence at the fact that he'd basically said goodbye, or at the very least closed the conversation with a parting sentence, he'd hung up, and I was staring at my cell phone.

Something down deep was telling me Ranger wasn't happy about the interruption. Not because he didn't want to get off the phone but because of who had entered the room. Whatever they wanted, he wasn't interested in doing. I shook it off, thinking it was ridiculous. He was injured, so it wasn't like they were pushing him back out into the field. Were they?

Realizing this kind of thinking could easily drive me crazy, I decided to focus on something else for a while. If Ranger wanted me to know what he was doing or where he was, he'd had plenty of opportunities to share it on the phone. The fact that he was playing his cards close to his chest told me this secret was important to him, and as his friend, I needed to respect that – for now.

A wicked little smile formed on my lips when I my mind landed on Lester, cheese sticks, marinara sauce, and a little payback.

_**Ranger's POV**_

"Sorry to interrupt, Manoso," Henderson spoke after I'd shut down my phone. "You going to tell me about this _Babe_ you were talking to?"

"No." I gave her my standard response when anyone asked me about Stephanie. My personal life wasn't something I shared. You never knew who was listening, and if the wrong person found out you had a weakness, they could use it against you.

She didn't seem offended, but she did shrug a little and reply, "Fine, but for the record, if that's who you spend most of your time talking to, I like the effect she has on you."

"What effect?" I asked, taking a quick glance at the sheet pooled at my waist. I didn't feel anything going on down there, but that didn't mean there wasn't a center support for a tent being pitched anyway.

Henderson began moving the head of my bed back up to a seated position. "When you're on the phone, your eyes have hope in them. The longer you go without talking to whoever that is, the more closed off you get. If I had my way, that person would be in your room by your side, twenty-four-seven."

"Not going to happen," I warned her, tapping down the panic at the idea of Stephanie seeing me like this.

"You may change your mind about that when you see what I have for you today," she warned.

That same twisting in my stomach began that I got anytime the general would push a black folder across the table toward me with the suggestion that I name my price. I knew whatever was in the folder was going to be nearly impossible to pull off, with a high risk of me not making it out; but I also knew that it would have a compelling enough reason behind trying it that I'd find myself running figures of what I really thought my life should be worth if I had to sacrifice it on a mission. It was how this mission had begun, and I should have listened to the voice telling me that no amount of money was worth what I was being asked to do. "What is it?"

Before she could answer, a man walked in who was perhaps two inches shorter than I was. He had tan skin from being in the sun, not from any genetic heritage. His hair was light, but it was probably bleached out from his time outdoors, as well. He wasn't built like me, but the way he carried himself told me he had plenty of strength. When the guy walked from the doorway to my free side, he reminded me of Hector, which struck me as odd. No one was like Hector, especially not the surfer wannabe in an Army medical center. But he did have an air about him that told me he wasn't to be underestimated.

When he stopped walking, Henderson made the introductions. "This is Maxwell."

I got a nod from the silent man she was referring to.

"He's going to be your new best friend."

"I've already got that role filled, so I don't need any applicants for the position," I quipped.

She shook her head, already coming to recognize that I always had a response for her. "I think you'll find him to be very important and a huge pain in the ass."

At that description, the man she referred to as Maxwell smiled.

"He's the best physical therapist in this joint, and I put in a request to have him assigned to your case."

Physical therapist? What the hell? I couldn't move, so there wasn't much therapy I could do right now. What did it matter if I had the best or worst care? It wasn't going to make a shit bit of difference at the moment.

The smile on Maxwell's face fell as quickly as it had come, and he focused solely on me. "You're losing muscle mass every hour you spend in this bed. You've had a few weeks to get over the worst of your injuries. There's no internal threat to movement now. Other than some soreness in your ribs and the casts on your body, there are no restrictions to keep us from starting."

"You don't think two casts and a lack of much sensation in my legs isn't a restriction?"

He gave me a non-committed shrug. "Won't know 'til we try, right?"

Henderson spoke once more to draw my attention back to her. "You'll cooperate with him." It was a command plain and simple; I'd given enough of them to recognize the tone. "I don't ask him for favors very often, and if you piss him off, he might turn me down the next time, which will piss _me_ off. I think we both know you wouldn't like me when I'm angry."

I couldn't explain what made me say it, but I found myself thinking of Stephanie whenever Henderson used that direct no-nonsense approach with me. "Don't worry; I'll be good so that I can stay on your Christmas card list."

She blinked at me for a second as my comment was played and then re-played in her mind. And then she grinned. "I swear, Manoso, I've been doing this for years, and I've never had a patient get to me like you do." With that, she walked out and left me with a guy that I figured was about to make my life hell.

At least I could keep myself busy thinking of what Stephanie might do with the information I'd given her about Lester. No doubt reality would be better than anything my imagination would come up with.


	8. Knowing When to Back Off

_Janet created the characters below, and I neither receive nor deserve any credit for it._

_Jenny (JenRar) I feel as though a simple thank you at the top of the page doesn't come close to recognizing all that you do as the beta of this story. Still…thank you._

**Chapter 8 – Knowing When to Back Off**

_**Ranger's POV**_

"Today we're going to start easy, but don't think it will always be this way," Maxwell warned, not moving from where he's stood when we were introduced. "I need to see what your muscles are capable of, and we'll work from there."

I nodded, not in the mood for a lot of small talk. The idea of hearing that I was losing strength and unable to support myself was more than I was capable of talking about right now.

He pointed at the sheet and asked, "You wearing anything under that sheet?"

The way he was looking at my waist almost made me think he was hoping I was going to say no. It looked like this was about to be his lucky day. Every day, Henderson got me clean in the morning and handed me a fresh gown, which I promptly tossed on the dresser table next to the bed. I'd rather have the staff here staring at me naked than have anybody catch sight of me in a dress that opened over my ass.

Shaking my head no to let him know it was just me and cotton he was looking at, there was a brief glimmer of a smile before he tamped it back down. The more I watched him, the more he continued to remind me of the most lethal man at my company despite the differences in their physical appearances.

He moved to the bottom of the bed, pulled the sheet out, and rolled it to my upper thigh. "All right, then we'll use the sheet for today, but tomorrow, I'm going to have Henderson put you in pants. We've got a lot to do, and I have to be able to concentrate to be sure it all gets done."

It wasn't the first time a guy had made a comment like that to me, and it didn't bother me. But I was glad that Lester or Bobby weren't here to hear it. Lester would have given me hell for my gay physical therapist coming onto me, and Bobby would have given Maxwell hell for getting distracted and not focusing solely on my care.

For the next hour, Maxwell moved each of my joints, asking me to resist, to mirror his movements, or to hold a position as long as possible. He didn't make any notes, but I could tell from the expression on his face that he wasn't missing a single detail. By the time he was done, I was sweating, and I'd decided he didn't remind me of a surfer anymore – he was every bit as much of a task master as my first drill sergeant had been. His slightly smaller body did nothing to hold back his killer edge.

When he pulled down the sheet bunched up at my upper legs, I assumed we were done for the day. Maxwell pulled a chair from the side of the room over to sit next to my bed so that we could see each other eye to eye. His eyes reminded me a little of Stephanie's, in that I could see his mind was spinning as he formulated what he wanted to say to me. My experience with her had taught me to just wait her out, and I figured it would serve me here, as well.

"You want the good news or the bad news?" he finally asked, obviously unsure of how to proceed with what he wanted to tell me.

"Always lead with the weaknesses and then move to the strengths," I quoted my initial military strategy instructor.

He nodded and jumped in, not even hesitating in delivering what he had to know was going to be stunning news to me. "You've got some nerve damage from the injury to your spinal column. The spine itself has healed, the swelling is virtually nonexistent, and despite the recent lack of movement, I was expecting better touch nerve responses."

"What does that mean?" I asked, needing to be sure I got the full impact so I could decide my next move.

"It means that you have never second-guessed your legs before, and that's probably a thing of the past. I can get you up and walking, but there's going to be pain involved in it. And I don't mean the kind of soreness you experience from getting into shape; I mean the stabbing kind of pain that will make you turn around to defend yourself because you're going to be convinced I'm stabbing you with a knife. Even once I finish with you and you go back home, you'll probably always live with an amount of soreness and discomfort when you overdo it that will be new to you. I doubt anything can be done to completely remove that other than medication, massage, and careful monitoring of your activity level. Those roundhouse kicks you probably used to dish out by instinct, you'll have to concentrate on to perform. The fact that the nerve damage will cause intermittent numbness is enough to get the word 'honorably discharged' stamped on your file. This is your last injury on a mission because that was your last U.S.-sponsored mission."

He stopped for a moment, so I waited, hoping that he hadn't finished his report. If a life of physical uncertainty and pain and forced retirement was what he was telling me was the good news, then I didn't need to think about what I was going to do next.

"On the plus side, I _can_ get you up and walking again. According to the scale your average civilian would be judged on, you might even be above the norm in ability as far as balance, endurance, and strength. But, I think the discomfort you'll be learning to live with will keep you from ever hitting your previous levels." He paused, letting that sink in, and then added, "But your arm will be fine and back to normal. Your upper body strength will be your greatest asset, and we'll be bulking that up to compensate for some of what you'll be missing at first with your legs. There's work we can do now, and I'm willing to start it tomorrow morning."

"Why wait?" I blurted out, not sure it mattered, but I figured while I tried to figure out what I was willing to handle, I should have the whole picture.

"Just what we've done today will be enough to make your back sore later. I want to give your muscles a chance to acclimate to moving again before hitting them hard tomorrow. Plus, what I'm telling you will be required won't be a damn walk in the park. I want you to have time to decide you are willing to do it. If I come back tomorrow and you aren't fully invested in what we're doing, then I'll pass you off to someone under me – and you'll walk, but I can't promise you'll run."

Maxwell was smarter than he looked. He could tell I was on the fence if it was worth it to give everything I had to just be a fraction of my former self. If I wasn't willing to commit, then he wasn't willing to work with me. I couldn't blame him. If he was the best this place had to offer, why should he have to waste his time with lost causes?

There weren't words for me to assure him I was willing to make the commitment he was looking for.

After the silence began to stretch, he stood up and said. "Besides that, everything else I could do with you will require you to get out of that bed, which means pants are going to be necessary. Until Henderson finds a way to cover your ass, I can't promise you'd be getting my full professional attention."

His remark should have pissed me off, but he was willing to make a joke in order to leave without me needing to respond to anything he'd said so far, and I appreciated that. Without another sound, he turned and left, shutting the door behind him, allowing me to have a few moments of complete silence.

I threw my good arm across my face to cover my eyes – another barrier to separate myself from the world around me. Damn it, I was hoping for an all-or-nothing answer to make my next move apparent. If I wasn't going to walk again, I was going to find a way to end it all here and face death over a life in a chair. If I could return to my life as I'd always been, even if it required hard work, then I would go back and put this all behind me. But being stuck somewhere in the middle – walking, but living with pain...I hadn't thought about that.

I could return to my company, but I'd have to either change my duties or learn to hide my weakness in the field. I'd done it before after a mission, and no one had been the wiser. A broken rib hurts like hell, but no one has to know that you're in agony if you learn to keep your face blank. And after a few weeks, you're back to normal, so going into the darkest parts of town and wreaking havoc proves you're as tough as you've always been. Could I live behind a mask for the rest of my life?

Calling the guys to the mats wouldn't work anymore. Before this mission, I could beat anyone on the core team unless Tank was really pissed off. At times, my margin of victory was paper thin, but I still came out on top. Reducing my ability to fight, even by a small amount, would mean they could each take me. And with the required training I made all the men go through, it would only be a matter of time before most of them could take me down, too. The respect through fear would be gone.

Never in my career had I issued a command for one of my men to do something I hadn't done myself. They knew this, and it brought about a kind of earned allegiance I depended on. If the guys figured out I was forcing them to do the things I wasn't able to do, then my credibility would be shot to hell, too.

And then there was Stephanie... How could I return home and try to claim some kind of life with her if I was only a shell of who I had been? She turned to me when she needed protection and help, and I could always provide it. It wouldn't take long before her being referred to as my woman would no longer bring any degree of protection for her because my name would no longer mean what it once did. The streets were a fickle place, and people there were a lot more observant than the general population would like to think. They'd notice the change in me, and they'd find a way to use it against me.

As easy as it would be to take all that and use it as the basis for ending it all right here, the thought of never seeing her again, of never holding her again…

My door opened with a resounding thud, causing me to jump in surprise and throw my arm away from my face to see what was happening. Henderson was standing there, and she didn't look happy at all. We glared at each other for a period of time, causing me to wonder what had upset her and why her irritation was being directed to me.

Without speaking, she moved into the room, letting the door close behind her. I expected her to move to my bed, but she went to the table next to me instead. She fiddled with the power cord that rested there, sticking it into my secure phone and handing it to me with a look that dared me to refuse to take it from her.

Stretching out my arm, I took the phone, waiting for some sort of explanation. Finally, she took a slow long breath, never breaking eye contact with me – an attempt to calm herself before speaking.

"You will pick up that phone and call this 'Babe' person you've been talking to. You will not hang up the phone until you have whatever you need to commit yourself to working with Maxwell. He came out and told me you had nothing but an uphill climb ahead of you, but he didn't see any spark in your eyes to start climbing. If he comes back tomorrow and doesn't see some kind of desire to get your ass out of this bed, he will give up on you."

When I didn't respond, she jumped in again. "Damn it, Manoso, if you are too selfish to do this, then you are not the man I thought you were."

"Selfish?" I questioned, not sure how that word made sense in light of the fact that it was my body, my life, my ability that we were discussing. Who the hell else was I supposed to think about? If ever there was a time to be selfish, this was it.

"Selfish," she repeated with certainty. "You're thinking only about how this will impact you, and you aren't even considering what it would do to the person you've spent hours talking to just since you've been here. You check out, and damn you, I'll find out who it was, and I'll tell her you gave up and that's why you didn't come home to her."

"Isn't that against hospital privacy regulations?" I bit back, knowing it was a lame response.

"Yes, but the only person that would know I'd done it would be her, and she'd be too upset to consider that I broke the rules," she arrogantly asserted.

"I'd know," I pointed out.

"Unless I'm misunderstanding you, it's hard to sue somebody for an ethics violation if you aren't breathing," she nailed me.

I looked away. Years of training to never be the one to back down first, and I pulled my eyes off her, admitting she'd won.

"You aren't the first soldier I've had come through here. You think I don't know what the look on your face means? So help me, Manoso, I'll kick your ass if you do something stupid on my watch."

Meeting her gaze, I lifted my chin in defiance, pissed at the world, pissed at my mission, pissed at my fucking useless legs, and allowing all that come out aimed at her because she was the only person brave enough to face me. "So as long as I do something stupid when you're off shift, then my ass would be safe?"

She pointed at my phone, which I noted I was gripping like a damn lifeline. "Pick up that phone and call whoever you've been talking to." She turned around as though leaving but faced me when she reached the door. "And whatever you do, don't say something as stupid as you just did to me. I wouldn't blame her for hanging up on you, and I think if she shut you out, then your last tie to hang on would be gone."

Leaving me no time to respond, she quickly opened the door and left, closing me in solitude once more. With no real reference of time, there was no way to know how many hours passed with me running scenarios of how my life in Trenton would look if I wasn't at my physical best there. I knew the day would come when age would catch up with me and I'd no longer be the toughest man on the streets, but I hadn't counted on it being now. In my stupidity, I'd figured if it happened gradually, I'd be able to handle it better.

The rumbling in my chest began to sound before I even noticed it. The growl turned into words when I opened my mouth and shouted, "Damn it to fucking hell!" I'd never had to channel strong emotions without being able to move, and I didn't know how to let it go while I was flat on my back.

I waited, feeling the echo of my noise in my ears, and wondered if anyone would come in and check on me. After a reasonable period of time with no interruptions I figured Henderson had called them off, knowing I needed to get some of this shit out and my vocal chords seemed to be the only muscles I had enough control over to use right now.

Forcing my hand to relax, I lifted the phone up and stared at the number pad. Henderson had commanded me to call Stephanie. I didn't have to obey, but something in me knew it was a good idea. Why it mattered, I had no idea, because I wasn't going to tell her anything about my current physical state.

Hell, it would be hours before this disaster of a day was over, so I hit the buttons and raised the phone the rest of the way to my ear. It took three rings before she answered, and just from the single word "hello," I felt some of the tension in my body relax.

"Hey, Babe," I started off, not sure where to go from those words.

"Hey, Ranger," she replied, letting out a breath I could hear across the line. "How are you?"

It was one of those questions people asked without really caring one way or the other. Typically, I ignored it and didn't bother with the expected pleasantry in return. But it struck me that Stephanie didn't usually ask that question. When the situation called for it, she could pull out her 'Burg manners and present herself beautifully, but at heart, she didn't give a shit about the surface stuff and tended to jump into what was on her mind. In fact, I didn't remember her ever asking me that except when I would visit her after returning from a mission, and then it had a specific meaning – _are you hurt?_

"I've been better," I responded finally. "Much better."

"Yeah," she agreed softly, "Me, too."

"What happened?" I asked, my internal alarm going off that something was wrong with her.

"I had a skip pickup this morning, and I found the guy easily. Of course, he decided he didn't want to go back to jail, so he thought it would be a good idea to try scaring me in the hope it would keep me from coming back."

"Were you scared?" I wondered, balling up a fist with my free hand. Despite it being in a cast, I was ambidextrous when it came to beating the shit out of someone for hurting Stephanie, and my body was responding off pure reflex at this point.

Her breath crinkled over the phone before she replied, "Shitless."

There have been many times in my life that I've been called an animal because of the ruthless way I've fought or worked, but it never seemed as fitting as it did when she confessed her fear. My throat instinctively allowed a rumbling sound to bubble out that sounded like some kind of jungle cat warning off a threat with a low growl.

"He spun me around, used one hand to hold my right hand behind my back, and used his other arm to tighten around my neck. He was locking around my neck with every word and cutting off my ability to breathe. When he told me he was going to wait until I passed out and then he was going to teach me a lesson I wouldn't forget when I woke up, I knew he was serious." She stopped talking then, at the worst possible point in her story.

"What happened?"

"It pissed me off that Lester was right that I obviously needed more than just a single day in the gym to work on my ability to defend myself. Then I remembered Bobby's voice when we stopped the official lesson and how he said that no matter what happened, I had to learn how to stay calm and then think on my feet, allowing my body to do what they had drilled into me. So, I stopped struggling, which gave the creep a false sense of accomplishment that I was about to pass out, and then I used my free arm to whack him in the balls at the same time I stomped on his foot, and I was able to spin away when he doubled over."

"Proud of you, Babe," I said without even thinking about it. Some people weren't able to calm themselves and think straight in a crisis situation, but she kept her level head and didn't panic, which could have saved her life.

"Hold off on that pride until I finish," she told me, causing my fist to reform once more. "I spun away and took off running, but I guess I didn't hit him hard enough to take him down because he took off after me. Of course, he had to be in shape – why don't the criminals I go after have trouble running?"

I waited while she worked through her side discussion, assuming it was more of an internal debate with herself that wasn't intended for me anyway.

She managed to pull herself back to the present. "Anyway, he caught me by grabbing a hold of my purse and yanking me backwards."

"How did you get away?" I had to ask, despite how much I knew it annoyed her when I interrupted.

"He broke the strap on my purse and that pissed me off because everything I carried was spread all over the front yard. We may not have been in the 'Burg, but people still talk, and I didn't want everybody to know what I was carrying around with me."

I decided to ignore that remark for now, knowing I could and would ask what she wished to keep a secret from the neighbors later.

"My eyes took in the mess he'd made just as he tackled me. Barely within reach of where I fell was a can of hairspray and my stun gun."

Ah, so she'd knocked him out... I'd talk to her later about having the weapon in hand before knocking on the door.

In my haste to jump to a conclusion about she'd done, I missed her next sentence and caught up when she said, "…so when I sprayed the hairspray in his eyes, he started screaming that I'd blinded him, and he got off me to cover his face. That gave me the chance to reach my stun gun and zap him."

"You went for the hairspray first?" I asked, even though she'd clearly said that was what happened.

"Hey!" She was in defensive mode at my question. "I've tried to use my stun gun before, and it hasn't worked because I forgot to charge it or it wasn't on. But I've never misfired a canister of hairspray... I'm a woman from Jersey." The last part was filled with enough sass that I had to laugh.

I conceded her point and had to admit it was perfectly valid when she explained it that way. "All right, I see the logic. How are you now?"

"My head hurts," she said softly. It had been just a few days before that Miller had given her a concussion. "And now I have to go back to Lester and Bobby and ask them to work with me a little more so that I don't end up in that same position again."

"Are you willing to do the work?" I asked, unsure why I was pushing her.

"I hate exercise," she replied, not exactly answering my question. "But I hated that feeling that he was going to hurt me and I was powerless to stop it. I guess I finally have the motivation to do what they think is necessary. When it was just to be able to snap my jeans, it wasn't enough to keep me committed – I could just buy bigger jeans. But it seems more like a matter of life or death now, so…yeah, I'll do it."

"That's my girl," I replied, not sure where the hell that had come from. I'd called her my woman on the streets for a few years, but to call her something like that was much more personal. The inner teenager in me wanted to kick my own ass for saying something that sappy to a commitment-phobic woman.

The pause began to grow long enough that I worried I had truly crossed a boundary but she cleared her throat, finding that storehouse of courage to speak that I seemed to be missing, and said, "Is that true? Do you think of me like that?"

I flexed the fingers of my hand, forcing them to relax from the fist they had formed earlier. This was a shitty time to have a conversation like this. I was considering never returning to Trenton, and now she wanted to pin me down on what we had. I'd heard a lot of men give foxhole confessions: when you think your life is about to end, you find a measure of strength to say and do things you hadn't been capable of. I'd never doubted them, so I hoped their advice didn't let me down when I opened my mouth.

"Yeah, I do." Once I started talking, I shut my eyes and pictured how she must look, hanging on every word, biting on her bottom lip like she did when she was nervous. "I know I haven't treated you that way, and I've told you the exact opposite, but that's how I think of you."

Again, silence filled my ears. Her deep intake of breath was loud enough to come through the phone before she spoke. "When you come home, will you treat me like you think of me?"

The question wasn't her clearest one, but I understood what she meant. "When you see me again, I'll treat you like I should have been treating you since DeChooch."

"It's been a long time since we made that deal," she pointed out.

"Then I've got a lot to make up for, don't I?" Hopefully she'd understand that with the hindsight this stay in the hospital had given me, I'd realized she deserved so much more from me. She deserved for me to treat her like I only had in my dreams.

"You going to be okay?" I asked, not wanting her to flip this conversation back on me.

"I will be." She sounded more confident this time. "Besides, I'll be too busy to think about much else because Tank has me overhauling your payroll process."

"What?" I asked, unable to believe he was using her to make his life easier. It was a brilliant idea, but it was still pretty low.

"Oh!" She made a sound of surprise. "I think I have to go. Are you going to be okay?"

"Yeah, Babe," I promised her, hoping it was true. "I think after talking to you, I'll be okay."

If she could find the courage to face her fears and do what was necessary, then I could at least try. If it didn't work, I could always change my mind, but giving up without even putting forth some effort wasn't like me. I was leaving open the option of going out by my own choosing, but it was too soon to fold yet. After that conversation with Stephanie, the game was way too interesting to walk away from these cards.

_Stephanie's POV_

I hung up and sat back, wondering what in the hell had made me rush off the phone. Ranger was finally saying things I'd wished he would say for years, and I'd run. It wasn't that I didn't want to hear them – my inner cheerleader had been doing backward summersaults at the idea of being his girl. But I felt like he didn't want to discuss it anymore, and if I'd stayed on the phone, I would have pushed him.

I'd watched a special on PBS about a guy who was a horse whisperer, and he'd said what he was able to accomplish was sometimes just as much about when he backed off as it was when he pushed forward. This was definitely a "back off" moment. Even though I had no idea what I was doing, I was convinced I was right.

Besides, I had a feeling he was a lot more injured than he let on, and the fact that he'd said he'd been much better told me whatever was going on with him was hard – really hard. It pissed me off that he didn't want anyone to know.

Hector walked by my desk while I was staring off, thinking about what I wished could happen. Ranger had reached out to me, obviously needing to hear my voice for some reason. He was struggling, and even though I didn't know what was causing his trouble, I knew that he was using our conversations to ease the worries he was enduring.

If I had a way to get to him, I had a feeling seeing me might be an even bigger boost than just a ten-minute phone conversation. In the back of my mind, I had a suspicion that there was a piece of him that didn't want to come home for some reason. Why would that be? Was there an injury that he didn't want to have to show around the guys?

My hand made a sound when it smacked down on the top of my desk, and I took off after Hector, calling his name when he opened the stairwell door.

"Hola," he greeted, turning his head to the side as a questioning expression that I thought was so endearing.

"I need help," I blurted out. I knew that Ranger didn't want the guys to know, but no one understood flying under the radar like Hector did, so I knew instinctually that I could trust only him in what I wanted to do.

He grinned at me and nodded. "_Si_, I help."

Now all we had to do was overcome the language barrier and hope that between the two of us, we could find what I needed to make this work. Ranger may have thought he was alone to deal with whatever this mission did to him, but if he was right about me being his girl, then it was about time I acted like it.

_A/N: I thought I should warn you all that I will not be posting tomorrow morning. I am going out of town and won't have access to my computer again until Monday when I'll be back with more._


	9. A Little Help From my Friend

_I wish things were different, but I didn't create the characters below. That honor and all the associated royalties belongs to JE._

_Jenny (JenRar) you are simply amazing. Thank you for your hard work as the beta on this story._

**Chapter 9 – A Little Help From my Friend**

_**Stephanie's POV**_

When I think about the hierarchy at RangeMan, it's easy to think about Ranger at the top of the list, with Tank directly below him. Beneath Tank would be Lester and Bobby as equals, and under the core team would be the rest of the Merry Men. But walking onto the second floor, I was struck by the fact that only Hector had an entire floor under his control. He had a private office and oversaw all the electronic gear the company used, as well as the armory and gun range. He ruled it all with an iron fist, and his word was law down here. It wasn't until I walked out and saw the shear amount of stuff he controlled that it hit me. Never had the term "silent partner" fit a person as much as it fit him. Hector may not make much noise, and he certainly didn't draw much attention to himself, but he had an enormous amount of power within the company.

I followed him past the gun range, peeking in the clear glass separating us from the two guys who were tearing through little target men as though there had been a rash of paper cuts in the office and the cause needed to be completely eliminated. Beside the range was the gun room, which was locked with an electronic keypad beside it. I knew that only a small number of people knew how to get into that room, which made me wonder just how many dangerous weapons it contained.

I knew about the next closet, which was a misnomer because it was twice the size of my living room. It held every conceivable type of listening device, bug, wireless transmitter, tracking tool, and camera imaginable. I'd been down here before a few of my distractions because my outfits required a different wire, so I was familiar with the organized plethora of options.

Finally, we reached the end of the hall, where Hector put his thumb over a scanner before unlocking the door. I wanted to ask why he had that level of security when even Ranger's private space was secured with just a fob, but I wasn't entirely sure I would be allowed to know the answer. Plus, as curious as I might be, Hector still intimidated me a bit so I didn't want to push my luck since I'd already asked for his help on something else.

Having never been in his private office, I was unprepared for the scene in front of me. His desk was neat, much cleaner than any workspace I'd ever had. A quick glance at the few papers stacked on the top told me there was no point in snooping in here because everything was written in Spanish. He had a monitor on his desk as big as my television at home, and there were four laptops hooked together with cables on a credenza behind his chair. They were all active with some kind code running quickly across them. It was easy to ignore because it was moving at a pace faster than I could focus on it, and I had no idea what it all meant.

To the right of the door was an area with a row of bins that appeared to hold various computer parts and cables. Even that was neatly arranged, with each cable tied off to keep it in order. If it had been me, I would have thrown them all in so that it resembled an electronic box of spaghetti.

He gestured to a chair opposite his desk, so I sat down and then moved to the edge of the chair, not entirely comfortable because I had no idea how to explain what I wanted him to help me with. After I took my seat, Hector followed suit and placed his hands on top of the desk in front of him. Only a fool would have commented that it seemed strange to see a person who looked the part of a gang banger acting so at ease in an obvious corporate setting, but I couldn't stop the thought from crossing my mind.

"Help?" he prompted by repeating what I'd said to him upstairs.

"Yes, I need your help," I echoed, basically getting us nowhere. Finally, I realized if I didn't just spit out what I wanted, I'd never know if he could help. "Can you keep a secret?" I began and then wondered if he understood so I added, "This is really private. No one can know but you."

He blinked a few times and then ran his hand over his lips. I couldn't tell if he were trying to understand what I'd said or if he was debating the answer to my question. If I couldn't even get past this part of what I needed from him, there was no way he'd be able to help me with anything else. Just when I was about to give up and apologize for wasting his time, he dropped his hand away from his face and looked me in the eye.

He winked as he spoke with heavily-accented English, "I will keep whatever secret you have if you promise to keep mine, as well." His grammar was perfect even if his pronunciation made it obvious this wasn't his native language.

"You speak English?" I blurted out, obviously missing the part that this wasn't something he wanted to be common knowledge.

"Of course," he replied, grinning like a young kid instead of the hardened man he usually appeared to be. "But I don't like to, and the fact that few suspect it is possible works to my advantage."

"Smart," I replied, wishing at times that people would forget I knew English and leave me alone.

"It is something I do not want to get out, but I trust you to not speak of it. You may trust the same thing of me." He was proving his loyalty by giving me leverage to hold over him. I would have believed him had he simply told me he would keep my secret, but this removed all doubt.

"I've been talking to Ranger while he's been on his mission," I began, watching him closely for any reaction. I could have sworn his lips twitched, as though wanting to smile, but he managed to control it before it got to his eyes.

From there, I explained how we'd spoken at least once, sometimes two or three times each day. I told him about the strange way Ranger had been opening up to me and the concerns of the core team that the only explanation for that would be that Ranger was seriously injured and hiding it from us. It was strange to talk to someone who was obviously hanging on every word but not interrupting at all.

When I finished catching him up, I paused, not sure how to ask for what I wanted him to help me with. He leaned forward so that his shoulders were past his elbows and said, "There are three different places he might be. I don't think he is in this country, or we would know despite his attempt to keep it hidden. I will search their patient records to see if there is anything that could match with what he's been through."

"Wait," I jumped in, unable to believe what I was hearing. "You can find him?"

He squinted slightly, as though trying to understand what I'd meant. "No," he replied, popping the balloon of my hope with one word. "But I can tell you where he isn't, which should tell you where he is."

Now it was my turn to squint. "I…I don't understand." As much as I liked to consider myself to be an intelligent woman, I was completely lost about what he meant.

This time, he did smile before explaining, "Boss wouldn't check into a hospital with his name. If he was injured on a mission, his identity may be so well hidden that getting confirmation that he is in a specific hospital will be impossible. But I can find out if there is anyone matching his description that was injured in the line of duty during the dates before he started talking to you on the phone. It should be a small enough group that you can use that information to find him."

"How do I find him?" I hated to sound so inept, but I wasn't sure what he thought I could do that he wasn't capable of doing.

"I can get you the place to call, and even the phone number, but if you want to know for sure, then you will have to talk to someone and convince them to tell you that he is there. No one else could get that part done, but you might be able to."

"You overestimate my skills," I warned him, knowing that without my 'Burg connections, I wasn't sure how to sweet talk someone into breaking government regulations to disclose the identity of one of their patients.

Hector shook his head. "No, I've got your skills right; it's you who underestimates them."

Not sure not to respond to that, I leaned back in my chair and asked, "Will you do it? Will you help me find him?"

"What then?" he responded by asking. "I will help you find him, but what will you do then?"

Unfortunately, I hadn't thought that far ahead. I figured honestly was always the right way to go. "I'm not sure. I guess there's a part of me that thought if I knew where he was, I might be able to go see him, but they might not even let me in."

Hector mirrored my movement and grinned. "We'll find him first, and then I'll help you get to him. Okay?"

"How?" I couldn't help but ask.

"Leave it to me," he replied, not telling me much of anything. Yet, in all the time I'd been hanging around at RangeMan, I'd never heard of anyone saying Hector had let them down.

"Thank you," I replied, figuring it let him know that I appreciated what he was going to do and that I trusted him to help me work out the details.

A nod was the only response I got before he said, "No worries. I'll find you when I'm done."

Not wanting to overstay my welcome, I stood up and let myself out, returning to my desk, ready to keep busy so I wouldn't dwell on how long it might take Hector to dig through highly-secured medical files of servicemen. There was no way to even begin to count the number of federal and ethical violations that would represent.

Four hours later, I had processed payroll, returned a stack of client calls that Tank had given me, and signed RangeMan up for central billing for several of their suppliers to reduce the number of invoices sent from each location every month, forcing a longer than necessary reconciliation process. Every time I finished one project, Tank would grin and hand me another. It would have been easy to joke that it felt like he was taking advantage of my offer to help out, but he seemed go grateful each time I handed off a completed task that I couldn't tell him to stop giving me more. Plus, it was nice to feel appreciated and validated that I had skills that could help someone.

When I spun around to go back to Tank's office to show him what I'd done, I saw Hector standing there patiently waiting. He gave a slight tilt of his head, which I assumed meant to follow him, so I dutifully stood up and let him lead me. I assumed we would go back to his office, but he hit the button in the elevator for seven and fobbed us into the apartment. Despite wanting to know why Hector had a fob to get in Ranger's private space, I kept my mouth shut, surprising myself that when it came to getting information to help Ranger, there was nothing I wouldn't do.

After the door closed, he motioned to the sitting area and took a seat at one end of the couch, angling his legs to see me as I sat at the opposite end of the sofa. Once I'd stopped moving, he handed me a small piece of paper that he had hand written a phone number on with enough digits that I knew it was out of the country.

Pointing to the paper, he explained, "Germany. That number is the nurses' station on the floor where I believe they've put him. You will have to call until you get someone to answer who is willing to give you some details. I don't think they'll tell you about his specific condition, but they can at least confirm that he's there. Then we'll talk about the specifics of how we're going to get there."

I nodded as he explained and then realized he'd used the pronoun "we" for who would be going to Germany, if that was where Ranger was being treated. "What do you mean, how _we_ are going to get there?"

That schoolboy grin reappeared. "You thought I'd let you leave alone and go to another country with no backup?" After letting that much sink in, he added, "I promised to keep your secret, but I never said I'd let it drop after getting you started. I will help you see this through to the end."

A part of me wanted to argue that point – to tell him that I could handle it from here. But I wasn't entirely sure that was true, and the idea of going to another country – one where I didn't speak the language – was intimidating enough that I figured I'd be willing to face Ranger's anger over me letting someone in on the secret.

Hector's warm hand covered mine before he spoke again. "You call and get what you can. If you strike out with one shift, wait and call at the change of nurses to see if anyone else might be willing to help you. Once you get what you can, I'll make the arrangements to go."

"Are you sure you want to do this?" I asked, glad to have the help but still feeling like he deserved the chance to back out if it turned out to be more than he was interested in investing.

"_Si._" He winked. "It beats sitting alone in my office all day." Then he stood up to add, "I think the guys are afraid of me. I've been here years, and no one has ever come to me for a personal favor except the boss. I'd do it for him anyway, but you are one brave lady, and I'm going to do it for you, too."

My jaw wanted to fall open, but something told me to hold that honest response, so I put my hand on my chest as a register of my shock. I think he misinterpreted the gesture as a sentimental one because he copied it, placing his right hand over his heart and bowing slightly at the waist.

After he left, I picked up my cell phone and dialed the number. I got a horrible screeching sound before an automated operator told me I did not have access to dial that number. I started to panic that Hector had given me some sort of government hotline and I was going to be busted by Homeland Security. Then I remembered I'd never traveled out of the country before, and my cell phone was for domestic calls only.

That seemed strange as I'd been calling Ranger from my cell phone with no problems, but I knew there was probably a really complicated explanation for why that call went through that involved routers, hidden connection points, satellites and computer encryption systems. I had watched enough television to know that some phones were truly untraceable, and figured if such a toy existed, Ranger would definitely have one.

Not willing to let a little thing like access get in my way, I reached over and picked up the phone on the end table. It took a moment for me to weigh the pluses and minuses of using Ranger's home phone for a call to Germany, but in the end, I decided whatever it ended up costing wouldn't come close to the cost of a Boxter. He hadn't batted an eye at the hit his budget took when I destroyed his car, so something told me he wouldn't complain about a few pricey phone calls, either.

I pushed the numbers with a purpose and waited for a friendly voice, who thankfully answered in English. I don't know what I'd been expecting, but knowing the hospital was in Germany, I guess I'd expected the phone to be answered in that language.

Unsure of how to get what I needed, I decided to go with the direct approach and told the woman, "I need to get some information about a patient on your floor and wondered who I should speak to about it."

She gave me a standard response that they weren't allowed to disclose information about their patients on the phone. While she was going on about privacy regulations, an eyelash got in my eye, and I nearly dropped the phone because of the sudden stinging sensation. Tears were rolling down my cheeks from the pain, and then my nose got into the program and began to run, as well. There weren't any tissues nearby, so I tried to discretely suck up the drips while she spoke.

Evidently, I wasn't as quiet as I'd hoped to be because she stopped in mid-sentence and said, "You know what, I've been where you are, honey. Try not to get too upset. I can't tell you a thing, but I can hand you over to my supervisor, and if there's anything we can legally disclose, she'd be the one that could do it."

I thanked her profusely and waited as she set the phone down. There were several voices in the background, and I had to give up trying to listen in because it was too muffled. Finally, a voice seemed to cut through all the others, growing louder until her throaty tone was coming directly to my ear.

"Henderson here." She spoke with a sort of authority that basically dared anyone to try to cross her. I rolled my eyes, wondering if Ranger was there, how he was getting along with this apparent ball-busting nursing supervisor.

I began from the beginning that I was calling from Trenton, and I completely understood that she couldn't confirm anything about a specific individual but wondered if I could ask her some hypothetical questions about a patient that may or may not be on that floor. There had been the sound of a keyboard being abused in the background when she got on the phone, but the moment I mentioned Trenton, she stopped typing and listened.

"Hypothetical questions?"

"Yes, like do you have a patient who was injured in the line of duty approximately four weeks ago?" I began, unsure how to keep it vague enough that she'd answer, yet specific enough that I could confirm it was Ranger.

"I have several," she replied before giving me my first glimmer or hope. "I don't want a name, ID number, or a birth date, but does the guy you're looking for have any scars?"

"Scars?" I repeated, unsure if I'd heard her right.

"You know, identifiable marks," she clarified. "If you're close enough to him to deserve to know what you're asking about, then you'll be able to answer my question."

It was so easy to shut my eyes and picture Ranger without his shirt on. I'd seen it several times in the gym, while a few even better memories came from my apartment or his. As soon as I got the mental image I needed, I described it. "He was shot in the chest and neck at close range, so there are two bullet wounds where the collar of his vest couldn't protect him. There's a smaller scar on his right thigh from a through-and-through bullet, and a knife wound on his left leg that's about two inches long now. When he had the stitches in, it was closer to three inches, but it's gotten smaller as it's faded and healed. There's a faint scar on the bottom of his right foot. He got that as a kid when he stepped on a broken bottle, but he lets people believe it was in the line of duty. There's a round scar on his right arm, near the shoulder, and a small one on the center of his left shoulder. He doesn't talk about those, but I think they're old bullet wounds, too."

"You can stop," she interrupted me before I got to what was beneath the towel. I wouldn't say anything there was scarred, but my dreams and memories would allow me to give her one hell of a description if that's what it would take to get some kind of information out of this woman.

"You don't have a nickname, do you?" she asked, again catching me off guard.

"I'm sorry," I replied, "I don't understand." I thought we were talking about Ranger, not me.

"What does he call you?" she demanded. There was a change in her voice that told me if I answered this question correctly, she just might be willing to help me.

"Babe," I answered without hesitation. "My name is Stephanie Plum, but he calls me Babe."

"Ms. Plum, the person you are looking for is on my floor, and I'd do just about anything to help him," she replied, making my heart rate kick into double time with both relief that I'd found him and worry that he must be in bad shape because of how she'd worded her response.

"If I just happened to be in the neighborhood in a couple of days, would it be possible for me to see him?" I asked, figuring I had nothing to lose.

There was a throaty chuckle before she spoke. It reminded me of someone who smoked packs a day, which seemed odd for a health care professional. "Honey, if you were to appear in the lobby, you would only need to ask for Henderson on floor eleven. I'll personally come down and get you to walk you up to his room."

A smart person probably would have thanked her and gotten off the phone. I wasn't feeling intelligent at the moment. I was feeling the rush between wanting to stand up and dance that I'd found the man that could stay hidden for years if he wanted to and wanting to curl up in a ball and cry over the fact he'd been locked up in a hospital for all the time we'd been talking on the phone. Instead of doing any of those things, I opened my mouth.

"I'm not planning on telling him I'm coming." I felt like I owed her a better explanation than that. "He can be stubborn about letting people see him when he might seem weak. But his voice on the phone has been…off lately, and I'm worried."

"That makes two of us," she replied in a softer tone, sincerity ringing in every word. "The sooner you get here, the better it will be."

"Thank you," I replied, wishing I could hit her up for exactly what I was walking into but knowing down deep that she wouldn't tell me anything else over the phone. Talking in hypothetical terms was one thing, but more details than that could get her into trouble. And until I proved how committed I was to helping Ranger, a stranger on the phone wasn't worth sticking her neck out over.

She gave me a few more details about how to reach her once we got there and then reiterated that the sooner I arrived, the better it would be.

The apartment was silent as I set the phone down. Even Rex seemed to know something big was going on and had gone into hiding in his fresh soup can. I lifted my cell phone and dialed the number Hector had written at the bottom of the slip of paper; in the note beside it, he'd indicated that it was his personal phone number.

"Hola," he answered, sounding strangely personable for the one of the guys around here.

"Hector," I said without formalities, unable to hold back. "I found him. I know exactly where he is, but I've got to get there fast. I think he needs help."

"Start packing," he replied without questioning if I was sure or requiring me to disclose all the information I'd gotten on the phone. This man who barely knew me was willing to act on my word alone that this was the right thing to do. "We'll leave in three hours."

"What about the guys?" I asked, knowing there was no way they'd let me go alone if they figured out what I was up to. At this point, I was under voluntary house arrest of sorts until Malone was found and returned to the system. There was no way they were going to accept me stepping out the front door with a suitcase in my hand without several people trying to tag along.

"I'll handle that," he said with complete confidence. "When you're packed, go back down to your desk and work. Leave your suitcase next to the door inside his apartment. I'll take care of it. When I've got everything together, I'll come get you at your desk."

There were thousands of questions I wanted to ask, but I managed to keep my mouth shut. Something told me that just as Hector had trusted me when I said we had Ranger's location, I needed to trust him when he said he would handle everything. Instead of asking any of the questions in my head, I simply thanked him and stood up to start packing.

I had no idea what I was about to walk into, but I knew down deep that I'd be able to handle it because Ranger needed me, and I'd move heaven and earth to show him that I was not only capable, but willing to support him, even when he didn't want to ask for help.

_**Ranger's POV**_

I was hovering in that in-between place of sleep and wakefulness when the door opened to my room. It wasn't slammed opened as it was the last time someone came in, so I blinked my eyes open to see who had entered.

Henderson was running through her regular checks of my vitals, and even though it seemed totally out of place in light of our last conversation, she appeared to be fighting a smile.

"What's got you in a good mood?" I asked, wishing I could think about something other than my prognosis for a few minutes.

Her features got sharper, and I had a feeling she wasn't going to share whatever had caused her previous happiness. After she finished everything she needed to do, she made a few notes on a tablet she carried in her pocket and then stepped back. "Let's just say, even the cases that seem impossible to make any progress on can sometimes get a boost in the most unexpected ways. I'm happy to have cracked a really tough one today."

It was hard for me to remember that she was probably in charge of the care of a good number of patients other than me. I'd been isolated in this room – of my own choosing – for quite some time and hadn't even considered the demands some of her other patients must put on her.

"If anybody could crack a hard case, I'm sure it would be you," I told her sincerely.

The smile returned to her face in full force at my compliment. "Nothing is beyond hope as long as at least one person refuses to give up."

While I wasn't entirely sure I agreed with that, it didn't seem like the right time to argue the point. My situation wasn't going to get any better because she refused to give up. Her determination wouldn't impact my body's ability to do what Maxwell wanted to do. And it certainly wouldn't repair the nerve damage I was going to have to live with. As far as I was concerned, there was little left to hope for in my situation.

Short of something unimaginable happening, I couldn't see the possibility that it would change.


	10. Surprise!

_JE created all the characters below. _

_Jenny (JenRar) I can't thank you enough for your tireless work as the beta on this story._

**Chapter 10 – Surprise!**

_**Ranger's POV**_

The next time I saw Henderson, she was taking my vitals and had an actual frown on her face. There were some faces that tend to have pleasant, almost smiling expressions naturally, and I wouldn't go so far as to say she had one of those, but the downturned lips and wrinkles on her forehead were definitely unusual.

"What's up?" I asked, figuring I had nothing to lose by trying to be friendly.

She shook her head and continued checking the lines going into and out of my body and then retook my temperature. Finally, she yanked off the finger monitor that had been displaying my pulse and took it with her fingers on my wrist, as though the digital response was somehow not what she expected to see.

"You have an infection somewhere," she replied flatly.

I looked down where the stitches had been on my stomach and only saw the neat scars, lightly pink, but definitely not red or inflamed to indicate a problem. "How do you know that?" I wondered.

"Your fever is up, your pulse is higher, and your urine is darker than it has been," she said, clicking off symptoms I hadn't noticed. "Do you feel off somewhere?"

"I've felt off since I was brought in here, so my normal is a bit skewed at the moment." Now that she'd brought it up, I was able to feel the burning in my eyes that I got when my fever went up, and my back had a mild throbbing ache to it. I let her know those two things, and she made a note in the folder. I wouldn't have noticed them normally so I couldn't say if they were symptoms brought on by the fever, or if it was just because she'd informed me I was unwell that I discerned them above the discomfort I seemed to live in now. "You may have just gotten a reprieve from having to work your ass off with Maxwell today because your doctor isn't going to release you for PT if you're running a fever with no explanation."

We talked about how I felt for a few more minutes, and then she left, promising to return with a doctor to look me over and some meds to begin bringing down the fever. "It could be a while, though," she warned. "Most of the doctors do rounds in the mornings, and this floor isn't always the first place they come, so I'll get something to reduce the fever for you now, but the exam may be an hour away."

She paused, as though waiting for me to argue. I figured they were doing the best they could, and if it were possible to get me seen by a doctor quicker, she'd make it happen. When I didn't respond, she shook her head and walked out, returning with a few pills in a paper cup and watching intently while I took them.

After she left the second time, I realized I was bored. There had been plenty of downtime since I'd gotten hurt, but I understood it was part of the process so I had intentionally lost myself in my thoughts to keep from going stir crazy. Now that the possibility had been presented of me finally being allowed to move, having that taken away made me feel restless. I guess it's possible the fever was compounding that, but I was struggling to find the usual zone I slipped into at times like this.

Finally, I decided it was ridiculous to keep struggling when I knew there was something that would help to settle me down. I had to stretch to get the phone off the table beside my bed, and when I moved, I could feel tightness in my body that I figured was both the fever and the lack of movement. My body needed exercise, and my muscles were so stiff that I knew even if I hadn't been facing the restrictions from my injuries, my body still wouldn't be able to move well anymore.

I was about to give up on her answering when the fourth ring sounded in my ear and then a click followed by some static noise and a banging sound. Finally, I heard Stephanie swear followed by more movement and then a very breathless hello.

"You're sounding kind of crazy there, Babe," I teased, imagining that she'd dropped the phone and then struggled to pick it up.

"I'm feeling it, too, Batman," she replied without missing a beat.

In my life, I'd never struggled to get attention from the opposite sex. And there were some women assertive enough to banter with me sexually. But Stephanie was the only one who ever managed to walk the line of treating me as though I were invincible while still acting like I was just a man. She treated me like I was a true friend that she could just be herself around. I could think of no higher compliment.

"Want to share?" I asked, mentally hoping she'd jump into one of her long stories that would captivate me and keep me distracted.

A strange groaning sound came through, which I was unsure how to interpret. Just before I asked what it meant, she said, "Have you ever made a plan that seemed brilliant at the time, but once you got into executing it, you wondered if you'd lost your mind?"

While that didn't explain much, the roundabout question was so typical of her thought process that I laughed a little and assured her, "Every time a mission gets FUBARed, something similar to that runs through my head."

Then she sighed, which shocked me. I would have expected her to fuss at me for laughing at her, but she actually made a contented sound, which warmed my chest. "You always know just what to say to make me feel better," she told me. "Thanks."

Before I could ask what had caused her second guessing, the door to my room opened, and Henderson walked in, followed by Maxwell and the surgeon that I'd seen when I first got here. "I have to go, Babe," I told her, sorry to have to rush off the phone.

"Try not to go crazy," she said, quoting my typical line to her. I guess in my current state, there wasn't much chance I would get shot.

"I'll follow that advice as well as you typically do," I joked.

"Oh, man, now I'm going to have to worry about what kind of trouble you're getting into." There was a lightness in her voice that I could literally feel inside of me. No one else affected me the way she did. Lester was a happy-go-lucky kind of guy, but being around him never made me feel happy in and of itself.

Unfortunately, the audience in my room made it impossible for me to keep talking, so I told her goodbye, knowing the closing statement would shock her enough to let me go without question.

When I hung up, Henderson was smirking. "We could come back if you'd like a few more minutes."

Something about having just heard Stephanie's voice and having the person that had been caring for me since my injury joking with me made me laugh, which caused Maxwell to grin. Maybe he thought the fact that I was acting happy meant I was in a better frame of mind to handle what he wanted to dish out.

Of course, the doctor brought us all back to reality when he leaned over and started pushing on my stomach, asking if various spots were tender. He wanted to listen to my lungs, so Maxwell assisted me in sitting up fully. It felt strange to have my back off the bed and not be lying down on my side to accomplish that. After he finished and I was allowed to lie back, the doctor pulled his glasses off and tucked them into the pocket of his white medical jacket.

"I'm going to prescribe some high-level antibiotics and hope that stops whatever this is before it goes any further. Frankly, I'm shocked that this is happening now because it's far enough post-operatively speaking that I would have said you were in the clear from any infection concerns. Your lungs are clear, so I can't imagine this is from being laid out for an extended period. We'll get you started on something this morning, and you'll have to forego any PT today, but if you show any signs of improvement beginning tomorrow, we can revisit when you can begin moving around and amend it as soon as your body seems to show signs that you're up for it. Obviously, you feel fine now, but that is no doubt a result of the fast intervention from Nurse Henderson. We'll keep a careful eye on you and adjust as necessary."

After all that information, he quickly wrote out an order, handed it off to Henderson, and nodded at Maxwell before leaving. She glanced at the paper and said she was going to get the meds and would be back to start them.

Maxwell smiled at me and said, "I've got to say that I'm disappointed we can't start working today because you actually looked ready when we walked in."

I remembered that I'd been talking to Stephanie when they showed up and nodded. It was hard to think about giving up as long as she was around.

"Any chance the voice on the phone will be around when we get to the hard work?" he asked, wiping the hint of a smile that might have been on my face.

"None," I replied absolutely. "There's no way she will be here."

"We could call her," he tried to suggest. "The hospital's got some social workers who can help family members in the States make travel arrangements. They've got these travel packages—"

I cut him off before he could finish. "No." I didn't want to leave him any room to interfere with this. "I don't want her here."

"Sometimes, having the right person in your corner makes it easier for you to do the work you have to do. It can be really motivating."

"Don't care." I tried to put an end to this conversation by saying, "She doesn't know I'm here, and that's the way I want it. Knowing her, if she found out where I was, she'd try to get here, and the idea of her being loose internationally is more than I can handle while I'm stuck in the bed."

"If you change your mind..." he offered again.

"I won't," I assured him, turning my head to let him know the conversation was over.

What seemed like the rest of the day passed with multiple interruptions to check my status, refresh my meds, or monitor some small piece of information about my condition. It was annoying as hell. I felt like I'd done nothing but try to sleep, yet I was restless and unable to truly relax.

Twice during the day, I got frustrated enough to try calling Stephanie, and I couldn't reach her either time. I left a message on my second attempt and immediately felt like a needy fool. I never left messages practically begging people to call me, but I felt as though hearing her voice was the only thing that could bring that feeling of peace back to me. It wasn't that unusual at home for her to be busy and unreachable, but the fact that I couldn't reach her twice had me on edge, as well. I knew Tank had men on her, but the idea that there was a skip with his eye on her wouldn't leave me alone.

It would be simple to call Tank and have him check on her, but Tank would know the moment he saw this number on caller ID that I was hurt, and there would be no way I could escape the questions about my status. With her staying in my apartment, it was safe to assume the guys would know if she left the building. As much as I hated the idea, I had to let this go and trust the guys to keep an eye on her.

My sense of time had been royally screwed with, but judging by the fact that Henderson was in different scrubs, I assumed the next morning eventually came, and once again, I found myself being analyzed and inspected. "Your fever is back down to normal, and your pulse is lower but not back to the practically turtle pace you had been maintaining. I think this will be enough to get the doctor to sign off on letting Maxwell come back up."

It was good news, I knew it was, but I couldn't work up any enthusiasm for the idea of getting out of bed. In essence, I was being told it was going to hurt like hell, not produce any quick results, and in the end, I still wouldn't be back to normal. On top of that, I hadn't reached Stephanie, and she hadn't called me back. I'd spent the night with my phone in my hand like some kind of desperate teenager, wishing the girl would call him back for a date. This place was screwing with my head because I knew it was ridiculous to feel rejected just because Stephanie had gotten tied up and hadn't called me back. In Trenton, we didn't speak every day, so it was absurd to think that with me halfway across the world, we would suddenly keep some kind of regularity to our conversations.

By the time I pulled myself out of my mental musings, Henderson was leaning over me with a very concerned expression. "Where the hell is your head?" she demanded.

A shrug was the best I could come up with. "You're the expert, but I believe it's still on my shoulders, barring some unusual rolling during the night."

"I see your ass is still with us," she bit back, never allowing me to get in the last word.

"So if you're up for beginning with Maxwell today, then he requested I get you in pants," she announced, taking for granted that I wanted to move forward with therapy.

She spun around and picked up something from the table beside my bed. It looked like one of the damn gowns she'd been bringing in every day that I'd refused to wear, so I raised an eyebrow as both question and challenge.

"Relax," she commanded. "The casts on your legs are too bulky for traditional pants, so I cut the bottoms off some scrubs that have a drawstring in the waist so that we can tighten them up enough to stay on you. I can't say much for the fashion statement, but they'll work around the gear on you and cover your ass at the same time."

It took a while, but she eventually got them over both casts and pulled them up by having me roll slightly to my side. The task that I thought was going to be difficult because of my less-than-ideal muscle control was made simple by her obvious experience.

By the time she finished getting me dressed and going through the morning routine, Maxwell was there, pulling a cart behind him that seemed to be weighted down with all kinds of equipment that I suspected were designed to torture the weakness from my body. I tried to find the zone I'd developed on missions when I knew the enemy was about to capture me. I'd survived the worst kinds of torture imaginable and knew whatever he was going to dish out was within my ability to handle. I couldn't get the single focus in my head the way I had in the past, but I continued to repeat, "I can handle this," as a loop in my head in the hope that mantra would get me through whatever was expected of me.

The sheet was pulled down so that my new fashion was visible. Maxwell stopped mid-sentence when he turned around and looked at me. "Well, I should thank old Henderson for that. Not only did she manage to cover you up like I asked, but she made you look absolutely hideous in the process so my mind won't stray while we're working."

I had to give the guy points for attempting to keep things light. Of course, any hint of kidding left the second he started stretching my hips. The guy had a work switch that had been flipped. I recognized it because I used to have one myself. I grimaced from the tenderness and pain when he rolled my leg to the outside. Once again, I tried to find that place deep in my head but failed.

After working me over similar to what he'd done for my assessment, he brought a walker to the side of the bed. "All right, today, we're just going to stand you up. You're not ready to walk yet, but you've got to stand before you can move anyway, and this will be the first step for that."

Giving a doubtful glance down at my legs, he must have noticed the uncertainty I was exhibiting because he assured me, "Those are walking casts and can take your weight, so you don't have excuses not to at least try."

Nodding, I reminded myself that the only way to know what I could do was to attempt to do what he wanted. Rolling to my side took immense effort without his assistance. Pushing up to a seated position was painful but manageable. When he told me to move my legs so that they hung off the side of the bed, I gave it a shot, but nothing happened.

"Concentrate on just moving them forward," he suggested, still standing back to let me handle it myself. It was amazing to me that he stood back as though he had nothing else to do other than watch me break out into a sweat and fail to accomplish anything, but he gave no indication that he was concerned.

Finally, I gave up and reached out with my casted hand to push the left one forward. That got him moving because he stopped any progress I could have made and instructed, "We aren't going to cheat, because the weight on your legs will just yank them down and could strain the muscle beyond what you're ready to bear. You need to use the muscle control in your legs to both begin the movement and control it once it starts."

"If that were possible, I'd damned sure do it," I replied flatly, unaccustomed to failing in something physical and not sure how to deal with it.

Eventually, the combination of him gently lifting to assist and some form of grunting and sheer will on my part got both feet on the floor with my ass on the edge of the mattress. I eyeballed the walker, resenting the sight of it. I'd had injuries of nearly every imaginable sort at different times in my career, but I'd never been forced to use the old lady tool for travel before, and it was rubbing me the wrong way.

"The sooner you quit resenting it and begin to see it as a temporary tool to help you walk again, the quicker you can tell it goodbye," Maxwell threatened, as though he knew exactly what I was thinking.

Then he moved straight into instructing me in how I should use my upper body strength to lift myself from the bed. He seemed to think that my legs were capable of holding me up and whatever they couldn't handle, my arms could support. Technically, he was the expert here, but a nagging voice in the back of my head was laughing at the idea that I'd been doing nothing for a month, and with only one good arm, I was going to try to heave myself out of the bed and stand on two broken legs. The floor seemed clean enough, so when I planted it face first, at least I didn't have to worry about dirt in my mouth.

Maxwell gave me instructions in small bits: moving my right arm to grip the walker and bring it snug to the bed; lifting my left arm, which caused my shoulder to spasm; and then leaning forward so that my upper torso was in a half body pushup position. "Now pull yourself up, and lock your knees to stand there," he commanded, as though what he was suggesting were actually possible.

Despite knowing it wasn't going to happen, I gave it a try and didn't get my ass off the sheets on the bed.

"That's not trying," he admonished me. "You're just placating me. I told you this wasn't easy; you are going to have to work at it."

"I'll work," I practically growled, "but it ain't going to make the impossible magically happen."

He hardened his voice. "Damn it, Manoso. Pull your ass out of that bed."

Again, I pulled and managed to lift myself up part way, only to feel the strain in my arms and fall back onto the mattress again. "I can't do it," I told him, feeling defeated the moment the words came out of my mouth.

I'd told myself I would try to do what was expected of me to see what life would be like with the irreparable damage, but clearly this wasn't going to work. It seemed to make sense to cut my losses here, stop wasting his time, and quit pretending there was anything left for me here.

"You are a damn Army Ranger," he argued, "You don't get to tell me what you can't do." His hands lifted mine back to the walker, and his fingers gripped over my hands to keep from pulling them away. "Now do it again, and again, and again until you're standing up."

The first clue that something was about to happen was the slight tingling at the back of my neck. I usually only got that when Stephanie was around. Since that wasn't possible, I told myself it was because she was thinking about me, and I tried to funnel all my focus into what I would do if she suddenly manifested herself directly in front of me.

Repeating each step as he barked it out to me, I began to pull myself up. My arms were shaking, but I pushed that out of my mind and focused on the mental image of Stephanie standing right in front of me. Maxwell could bark at me all he wanted to. I knew the only person that really had the power to get me moving was the woman I was connected to in inexplicable ways.

I'd closed my eyes, visualizing myself in front of her. When my legs locked and I was completely vertical for the first time in recent history, the voice that filled my ears seemed like a natural result of my focus and the stress I was under because it sounded so real, as though my ears were actually hearing her talk.

"Since you're standing there, I'm guessing your injuries aren't insurmountable, which means you tried to keep everyone away because of the hideous fashion they've forced upon you."

My eyes opened, expecting to see Maxwell and nothing more, but my mind was convinced it had really heard her speak, so I couldn't stop myself from looking to be sure – and from hoping that it might be true.

"Ranger, you look like shit," the curly-haired woman in front of me said. "And I'm so glad to see you."

The grip Maxwell had on my hands tightened down, ensuring I didn't act on the reflex to touch the mirage in front of me.

"Babe?" I wasn't sure if I was asking if she was real or praying that it might be true. Maybe this was all a dream, and the fever from yesterday was bad enough that I was hallucinating.

The angel in front of me moved slowly to take the four steps separating us in order to stand right by my side. Still acting as though any sudden movements might spook me, her hand rose gradually and then rested on my cheek, which was coarse with stubble from the four days of growth since I'd shaved. "Hey, Ranger," she practically whispered, her blue eyes glistening from the tears she was holding back.

There was no way for me to take my eyes off her. She was beautiful, watching me as though I were the most important thing in the world to her, and based on the warmth resting against my face, she was real. There were a thousand questions I probably should have asked, but all I could think was, "She's here."

Sound was coming from directly in front of me, but it sounded as though it was far removed and funneled through a tunnel. Finally, Maxwell broke the spell by saying, "Manoso, you've got to sit down, man. This is way above what I'd hoped you could do today."

Stephanie's thumb ran up and down twice before she pulled her hand back, leaving my face still warm where she had touched me. I couldn't take my eyes off her, as though if I allowed myself to focus on anything else, she might disappear. "Ranger, you need to sit down now," she said, repeating what my therapist was nearly yelling.

I was aware that Maxwell was still talking because I could hear the buzz from his general direction, but everything in my world was reduced to the spot where Stephanie was standing.

"Come on, Batman," she pulled me out of my disbelief by switching nicknames. "You need to bend at the waist and reach back with your good arm to find the bed."

I followed her directions like a dog wanting a bone for a reward.

"Now lower yourself down until you're sitting there."

It didn't matter that she broke eye contact with me after every instruction to look at the therapist, who was feeding her lines. I was hanging on every word she said, and my body responded without hesitation.

As soon as I was stable on the bed, Maxwell moved the walker away. When her focus went to him instead of me, I finally found the strength to look at him to see what had her attention.

"He's good sitting there like that for a while. It will give his legs a chance to have better circulation, and it will tax his core muscles in his back and abs to support himself." He turned and began to walk to the door before saying, "You two have fifteen minutes alone, and then I'm coming back in to work you a little more."

As soon as the door closed, I lifted my right arm, relieved when she met my open hand with hers. She spun around to stand as close in front of me as my casts would allow and used her free hand to run through my hair. "You're a mess," she finally said.

I looked down and saw myself objectively for the first time. I had no choice but to agree. "Yeah."

Without warning, her eyes began to harden, and I wondered what was making her angry. "I'm not leaving you. I don't care if you yell, scream, threaten, or ignore me; I'm not leaving you."

There was a time when I had complete control over my emotions and could school my features so that people only saw what I wanted to share, but when she said that, I felt such relief that she was here. I was convinced there was no way my previous blank face could be used at the moment.

"Once he's done with you, you're going to let me wash your hair," she said firmly.

I nodded that I would – anything to keep her hands on me, assuring me this was real.

"And then I'm going to shave you," she added.

I should probably be worried about her holding a razor to my neck, but at the moment, I didn't care if she slit my jugular. If I was going to lose my life by her hand, at least I'd go with her face as the last thing I'd see.

"And then you're going to tell me everything you can about what's going on."

I nodded, feeling like a damn puppet and not caring one bit for the first time in my life that a woman was calling the shots about what I was going to do.

"Then it sounds like you're ready for me so that we can get you closer to the fun part of your day," Maxwell said from the doorway, indicating how long I'd been gaping at the woman in front of me.

Stephanie tried to step back, but I tightened my grip on her hand.

"Whoa, man," Maxwell spoke up. "She doesn't have to go, but you're going to hurt her if you don't let up."

My hand fell away immediately. Once it was free, I ran it over my face, attempting to get a grip on myself. I was acting a lovesick fool, and while I might have good reason to be surprised, I couldn't keep on like this. I had to at least attempt to get it together.

_**Stephanie's POV**_

I was torn between an overwhelming sense of relief that Ranger was sitting in front of me, alive, even if he wasn't exactly well, and anguish over how altered he was. From the moment I'd walked in and announced my presence, he'd seemed to be hanging onto me as though I was the only thing that could keep him moving forward. I knew he was struggling to believe I was really here, but it went beyond the fact that I'd shocked him.

Ranger looked like a man who believed he was at the end of his life and had given up hope of making it any further. I'd seen that look on my Grandpa Mazur's face when they told him he had suffered a heart attack and if he couldn't make some immediate and drastic lifestyle changes, he wouldn't make it very long before it happened again. He'd seemed lost, and three days later, he'd had the big attack that took his life.

I'd never believed a guy like Ranger could have the hope sucked out of him, but that was the only way I could describe the way he appeared now. I knew that he needed some strength, and the storehouse he'd always carried seemed to be empty, so I decided to lend him some of mine and step up for him until he could stand up for himself.

In theory, I'd always believed there was nothing I wouldn't do for him, but being presented with the opportunity to show that proved I was right. I would stay by his side no matter what, and I would be the hope he needed to hang onto until he could find his own. Because I wasn't kidding when I told him I wouldn't leave, and until I saw some spark of fight back in his eyes, I'd fight enough for both of us.


	11. Heaven on Earth

_JE gets the credit for the characters below that she created._

_Jenny (JenRar) thank you for your support and encouragement. I didn't realize beta also meant chief cheerleader, but you certainly fill that role as well._

**Chapter 11 – Heaven on Earth**

_**Stephanie's POV**_

When Tank asked me to help him with some work around the office and I easily completed tasks that had plagued him, I felt pretty good about myself. When Valerie was at her wits end with Lisa, who had been crying most of the day with colic, and I volunteered to hold her for a while, causing the baby to immediately stop crying when I began to talk to her, I felt like I had a way with people. When Old Man McDougal refused to let Vinnie pick him up when he missed his court date, telling him that he wanted the hot little bounty hunter to come get him, I felt like I might have a certain appeal. But never had I felt as powerful and filled with purpose as I did right then, with Ranger watching me like he was afraid I would vanish at any moment.

The poor guy trying to provide physical therapy was handing out instructions that were perfectly clear. Ranger was giving a half-hearted effort to follow them, but he was clearly distracted by my presence. I would have excused myself, but I knew he wouldn't tolerate my leaving very well. So instead, I turned into the cheerleader he needed and repeated the instructions from the therapist, encouraging Ranger to give it his all. Slowly, I could see the determination set in on his face, and the results began to improve. By the end, the guy with us was directing his instructions to me and not even bothering to talk to Ranger. It was strange to feel like an interpreter when we were all speaking English.

The man finally relaxed. "All right. You can tell him to settle down because he is all done for today."

I repeated the message to Ranger, not sure why because I could see he was starting to relax after hearing the session was over.

The guy stuck a hand out and smiled at me before introducing himself. "My name is Maxwell, and I'm in charge of the physical therapy for this guy."

"I'm Stephanie," I replied, returning his handshake and smile.

"Please tell me you aren't leaving town anytime soon," he said, stepping back to load his cart up with some of the equipment he'd used with Ranger.

"I'm here until he's ready to leave," I asserted, glancing down at Ranger and daring him to disagree with me.

"Good," Maxwell responded, clearly relieved. "I was hoping to work with him at ten o'clock every morning, but if that time doesn't work for you, then I can reschedule."

It was strange to have someone asking about my schedule when it didn't really concern me. "You want me to be here?" I felt like I should be clear that I hadn't misunderstood.

"Absolutely," he quickly assured me. "The effort from this guy went from half-hearted to full throttle just because you were encouraging him. It will take me twice as long to get him ready to go if he doesn't work with me. But I have a feeling if you're a partner in what we're doing, he'll come around a lot quicker."

"Anything I can do help," I promised.

Maxwell picked up the walker that Ranger had been using when I first walked in. "In that case, if you can get him to roll over, pull himself up, and then stand using the walker for balance at least three more times today, that will support what we were working on this morning."

I glanced over at Ranger and saw him staring at the walker with what I could only describe as contempt on his face. "I'll see what I can do." I knew better than to promise we'd do it because Ranger wasn't exactly giving me much hope that he was willing to cooperate, but I knew I would try my hardest and hope it was enough.

"Manoso," Maxwell addressed Ranger once more. "If we keep up days like today, then you'll see yourself moving forward pretty quickly."

Ranger nodded at his therapist but didn't speak.

My 'Burg manners had me following him to the door as though I was showing him out of my house. Just as he walked out, he turned back and spoke quietly, obviously meaning this to be for me only. "He's got some hard work ahead of him, and no matter what he may say, he needs you here. He's going to need whatever it is that you bring to him when you're around to get through all of this. So don't give up on him."

I glanced over my shoulder at Ranger, who was watching us with narrowed eyes. Then I turned back to Maxwell and replied, "Don't worry. You'll be seeing a lot of me."

Taking a step back, I had to work to keep from laughing when he called out, much louder this time, "Oh, and get the man some decent pants. I liked him better when we had to work around his toga."

The door closed, and I looked at Ranger, attempting to raise an eyebrow in question. "Do I want to know why you were going through a Roman dressing phase?"

"Probably not," he answered with a hint of a smile. When he saw I hadn't moved and was still looking at him expectantly, he amended his answer and said, "I refuse to wear a gown with a hole in the back, so I've been going without anything on, but the guy said he couldn't work with me if I was naked, so the nurse brought me these scrubs as an alternative to wrapping the sheet around me like we did the first time he came."

It's always a little disappointing when the truth isn't as entertaining as my imagination would have made it. I sighed and moved closer to him when he seemed to be lifting his hand.

We looked at each other until I broke the silence to ask, "Are you mad that I showed up?"

"No," he told me quickly enough that it rang true. "But I am curious as to how you knew where to find me."

It was hard to keep the guilt off my face, which he immediately picked up on. "What did you do?"

There was no censure in his voice, just genuine concern and curiosity, so I didn't feel myself getting angry like I probably would have if anyone else had said those exact words. "I had to get a little help."

"Who helped?" Much of the awe he had been displaying while he looked at me seemed to be disappearing as he worked to shove his emotions away and pull out his blank face.

He was probably prepping himself to deal with the entire core team, so I felt the need to explain before he changed his mind about not being angry now. "I promised not to say anything to the core team, so I couldn't ask them for anything."

That only seemed to confuse him even more. "Hector," I confessed. "I asked Hector to help me find you, and then when he gave me the information I needed to confirm where you were, he came up with a plan to bust me out of RangeMan and get me here."

"Hector is here?"

"In the hall," I confirmed, wondering if he was going the yell at the man who had been so nice to me through our trip. "Do you want to see him?"

Ranger nodded, so I reluctantly moved back to the door and opened it to motion for my shadow to join us. Unfortunately, he wasn't looking at me but was standing eighteen inches away from the physical therapist that had spent his morning working with Ranger. I cleared my throat, and neither of them seemed to notice. I was still adjusting to the fact that Hector spoke English, but reconciling that he could not only speak my language but was apparently perfectly capable of flirting with it as well was too much for me.

I probably raised my voice more than was necessary. "Hector!"

He turned around and reverted to Spanish all at once. "_Si?_"

"I'm sorry to interrupt," I said in an attempt to soften my outburst to get his attention, "but Ranger wants to see you."

He held up a finger for me to wait and then turned back to Maxwell and said a few more things before looking at his watch and nodding. If I had to guess, I'd say my shadow had just made a date. Strangely, I could see it working. There was something about the tough-as-nails therapist that reminded me of Hector anyway, so I could see the surface attraction.

When he spun back around, Hector was grinning, and a quick glance at Maxwell gave me a matching look of joy.

"I'm sorry to pull you into this, but he wanted to know how I found him, so I told him you'd helped. He said he wasn't mad at me, but I don't know if that immunity carries over to you, too."

"No worries," Hector assured me as he followed me back into the room.

Ranger was attempting to reach something to his side, and I could tell from the look on his face that the stretch wasn't comfortable for him so I rushed over and followed his gesture to get the remote for the bed so that he could sit up more than he had been. I knew he would hate the idea of being flat on his back in front of one of his guys.

I felt Ranger touch my hand once he was sitting, and the grip he maintained let me know he didn't want me to leave. But the fact that they began talking in rapid-fire Spanish didn't exactly invite me to participate.

Focusing on the tone of their voices told me that neither one of them was yelling, nor were they doing that raspy, nearly silent threatening voice that guys sometimes used to show they were too mad to even yell. I took that as a good sign. While nether of them were smiling, they weren't scowling, either, so I wasn't afraid to stand between them while they bantered quickly.

The length of their responses began to shorten, making me think they were at the end of whatever they'd been discussing. Hector looked at his watch and nodded before agreeing to something. Then he took the few steps to stand right in front of me, tilted my head, and kissed my cheek near my right eye exactly where his tear drops were tattooed on his face. "Stay here, _si?_ I'm going to have some lunch but will come back when I'm done, and we'll go to the hotel together. Don't leave the room."

It was tempting to roll my eyes at him, but I managed to hold back in order to avoid offending him since he'd done so much for me over the last forty-eight hours. "I'm not going anywhere," I told him. Mostly, I meant that while he was gone, he didn't need to worry about me wandering the halls alone. Of course, even once he got back, I wasn't planning on going to the hotel to stay. As far as I was concerned, the straight back chair in the corner of the room here would suit me just fine.

Satisfied with my promise that I wouldn't leave, he walked out with a soft, "Adios," and left Ranger and me alone once more.

"Did that sort everything out for you?" I asked as though I'd understood every word.

"Mostly," he answered. "Is there anything else you think I need to know?" There was a hint of a grin at the left side of his mouth, and his eyes were alive with amusement, so I knew he was joking because he knew full well I hadn't understood a bit of it.

"No," I replied, playing along. "I'm pretty sure he spoke for both of us."

"You know Tank is probably tearing the office apart right now," Ranger warned.

I defended my flight away from Haywood with what I'd been told. "Hector said he took care of Tank so that none of the guys would worry about me being gone."

"He did, but you'd been picking up the slack for Tank for a while now, and something tells me isn't too happy about having to do it all again now that you're here," Ranger replied.

"I'm not worried," I said, puffing up.

"Tank's a big guy," Ranger warned.

"He may be big, but he can't beat up somebody he can't find, and right now, he has no clue where I am," I announced with as much bravado as I could manage. Hector had assured me we were not being tracked or followed, so I felt like he'd proven himself enough that I could take his word for it. "Of course, I may not be welcome to go back home, but I'll cross that bridge when I come to it because you'll be there to protect me."

There was a brief pause before he asked, "Why did you come?"

Letting out a deep breath, I decided to just jump in. Ever since I'd picked up the phone a month ago, I'd been following whatever my instinct told me was the right thing to do with Ranger, and it had served me well, so I was hoping this would work out, too. "It felt like you needed me, but I knew you weren't going to ask. When you called me your girl, I figured if that were true, then I should act like it, and I did what I would have wanted you to do if our roles were reversed."

His hand slipped free from mine, and he used his fingers to rub his eyes. "I couldn't believe you were really here." He paused, like he wasn't sure what he wanted to say next. "I'm different…or I'm going to be. This isn't just a little injury." When he let out a breath, I finally got the extent of his worry.

"When we were talking on the phone and you said_ if_ you made it home, it wasn't because you thought the injury that brought you here would take your life, was it?" I needed to hear him admit to what I suspected.

"No." He cleared this throat before adding, "At least, not directly."

On impulse, I reached out and smacked the arm still over his face. He lowered it quickly and looked at me, surprised.

"Are you telling me that you considered doing something….well, stupid, if it looked like you weren't going to be a hundred percent after you finished healing from this?" I asked him, beginning to feel angry, which made being harsh a lot easier.

"According to Maxwell, I'm not going to be a hundred percent," he stated bluntly, pausing to search me for any kind of reaction. I steadied myself to be sure he didn't see any change in how I was looking at him. "I'll walk, maybe run, but I'll live with some numbness and pain in my lower back and legs for the rest of my life. I'll never have the power and control I've had, which means I won't be able to rely on my body ever again."

"And this means you had the right to just pull yourself completely out of the game?"

"My body, my life, my decision," he spat out as though he'd given this topic way too much thought.

"Okay, so the fact that I'm not strong enough to run away from pissed-off skips means I don't have a physical edge on the street. So why don't we drink from the same Kool-Aid and go out together?"

"This is different," he defended. "You could work out, build up your speed and endurance, and get better. I'll have to work harder than I've ever worked before, and I'll still only be a fraction of what I was."

"How small a fraction?" I asked, attempting to switch gears. "Are we talking fifty-percent – walking with a limp, maybe needing a cane to maneuver?"

"No, I think I can cover it better than that," he conceded.

"So you'll look normal, act normal, seem normal, but because you know you aren't completely invincible anymore, you're willing to just cash in your chips and give up?"

"It's not that simple," he attempted to argue. "My ability to fight is how I assert my dominance on the street. It's how I discipline my men...and it's how I ensure you stay safe."

And there it was – the actual real issue here. In his mind, he couldn't single-handedly keep me safe, which meant he wasn't the man he felt he needed to be. I took his hand which was laying on his chest, probably to be ready to field off another attack if I'd started banging on him once more. After a few seconds ticked by, I asked, "Are there any men you respect?"

His face shifted so that he was looking at me suspiciously. "Sure there are."

"Who?"

"Tank, my father, the general I've interacted with for most of my Army-sponsored missions..." He shrugged slightly. "There are lots of people I respect."

"Can't you take all of them on the mats?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"This is totally different," he told me, objecting to what I was trying to do.

"Why? The general gave you orders. You followed them even though you could have easily challenged him and won," I replied, playing innocent.

"I could have won on the mats, but he had the stars, which meant he had the power to issue the order. In the end, the power would have won over my strength," he said, competely verifying what I'd thought.

"You told me once that you had the strength but I had the power in our relationship." I tried not to grin when I said the last part.

"Obviously it's true," he agreed. "If anyone else had gone against what I'd wanted, I would have torn into them the second they invaded my privacy. But when you walked in, I was so damned relieved, I couldn't believe it was real."

"So, I think it's pretty clear that it's not my physical strength that causes you to do what I want you to. And I'm pretty sure the last few years you've spent working with the guys has earned you the respect to wield the power to continue to run your company how you see fit."

"But if they challenge me, I can't follow through with any action," he argued.

"RangeMan isn't a country ripe for a resistance force to overthrow the old regime. If they challenge you, they're fired. Why are you making this harder than it needs to be? They will follow you because they've always followed you. They'll respect you because they trust your mind to devise the right plan in any situation to keep them safe and carry out whatever the objective might be. They don't follow you because they're afraid you'll beat the shit out of them. Men don't stay with guys because they're afraid of them. They stay because they want to be there."

It was all I could do to keep my mouth shut after I finished my mini-lecture. But I knew he needed time to process what had been said, and my talking would keep him from concentrating.

Luckily, seconds before I burst to talk again, Ranger opened his mouth. "Not many people would talk to me like you do."

"Get used to it," I threatened. "I'm thinking this is the new me."

"What if I liked the old you?" he wondered.

"She's still around, but she's no longer editing her thoughts and holding back her feelings," I explained, liking the sound of it.

"How is she feeling now?" Ranger grinned when he asked that question.

I made a sound of contemplation. "Hmm... It's a mixed bag of relief to see you obviously alive and on your way to being well, rolled into a bit of irritation that you probably wouldn't have told me what was really going on with you if I hadn't pushed my way here."

His smile faded into a slight grimace. "You have to prepare yourself that there's a new me, too. I'm not going to get through this and go back to Trenton as the same guy I was when I was last there. Take some time to really consider what it will be like to be with a man who has physical limitations."

"How do you handle it?" I countered.

He looked confused. "I haven't gotten used to the idea that I'll have limitations. I know that eventually, I'll have to switch from thinking about what I can do instead of focusing on the things I won't be able to do, but honestly, that's not where I'm at yet."

"No," I said quickly, correcting his misunderstanding. "I meant, how do you handle being around a person with physical limitations?" Then I pointed to my chest with my free hand, implying that compared to him, there was a laundry list of things I wasn't able to do. "I don't run, I can't climb, I hate shooting, my self-defense moves are rudimentary at best, and I have little to no endurance."

"It's a wonder you've made it this far," Ranger said with a chuckle.

Normally, comments like that would have pissed me off, but when I spelled it out that plainly, it was sort of amazing I worked in this business and managed to not get myself killed.

His face dropped the joking expression, and I knew he was going to honestly answer me. As much as I was a fan of honesty, I wasn't sure I was prepared for what he might say. "Sometimes, I wish it were different. When you're in danger, I kick my ass for not working with you to build up your ability to defend yourself. Then, after the danger passes, I let it go, figuring you've made it this far; you've obviously learned to counter the lack of physical training in other ways. I guess I live with it by worrying more than is necessary and hoping for the best."

"I'm sorry I made you worry about me," I confessed, hating the idea of burdening him more.

His eyes narrowed as he considered my apology. "I'm not. Sure, I'd rather spend the time laughing with you, but you were the only person I worried about because I knew if I lost you that it would…hurt."

I moved to sit on the edge of his bed, careful to not push against him in any way because I still hadn't heard the full extent of his injuries. "Are you going to let me stay here and work with you to get better?"

The warm brown eyes I'd been staring into closed, and he let out a long breath. "I can't send you away, and I don't think I can do it alone. But I hate the idea of you seeing me weak. Lying in this bed is one thing, but not able to move my legs or stand up is something totally different. I want you here, but I might push you away at the same time."

"Then I'll pull out some of that stubbornness that you love so much back home, and I'll refuse to go," I promised, knowing how much his admission must have taken out of him. "And for the record, I don't see you as weak."

"No other way to describe it, Babe," he replied, obviously seeing himself very differently than I did.

I wasn't a medical professional, but I knew that the greater challenge to his recovery wasn't the injuries his body had sustained, but the mental hurdles he would have to clear to accept the changes to his abilities long-term. I had no idea what to do about that, but he'd admitted that he needed me here, so I committed myself to staying no matter how hard it became. In my gut, I knew Ranger would never leave me, and he deserved that same amount of loyalty from me.

_**Ranger's POV**_

I pulled Stephanie's hand to force her to lose her balance and fall toward me. Luckily, it was on my good side because she tumbled onto part of my chest, and the ribs on the other side, while definitely improving, still hurt.

"I don't want to hurt you," she protested after she fell

Using my arm to hold her still against me, I confessed, "Then stay here next to me."

"There's not room for both of us in the bed," she attempted to point out while trying to get up once more.

"Please, Babe," I nearly whispered, coming as close as I could to begging. "Lie next to me for just a little while."

"Okay," she submitted and then slowly moved so that she could stretch out beside me, placing her head on my shoulder and her arm on my chest.

After she'd stopped fidgeting, I could feel my muscles relaxing. Each time we spoke on the phone, I could feel the effect of the contact with her help me to release some of the tension of living with the uncertainty of my injury. But having her next to me so that I could feel her in my arms was what it took to point out how tired I was. Surrounded by the peace that only came when I was around her, I could feel myself wanting to drift off to sleep.

"Ranger," she spoke up just before my mind shut down.

I made a noise to let her know I'd heard her.

"I need to warn you that there's something I need to do tomorrow."

Just like that, the tension began to return. She was going to leave me, even for a brief period, and my mind started to churn with the possibilities of all that could go wrong. As if she felt my body tightening up, she started to move the hand that had been resting on my chest in a soothing motion.

"Hey, don't worry," she tried to calm me again. "It's just that I can't take the sight of you in those horrible pants after today, so no matter what, we're going to have to find a way to improve your fashion."

She made me smile. It seemed like such a simple thing, something I'd taken for granted in the time I'd known her, but Stephanie brought joy to me. I knew she deserved me to give my all in the effort to get out of the hospital, but there was a small voice in the back of my mind that wondered what I'd have left to give her once I was back home. Was it fair to take a woman who was so vibrant and alive, who seemed to finally be grasping her life and taking what she wanted, and saddle her to a man who was declining and no longer able to live in the same aggressive, take-charge way that she was rapidly embracing?

"Let's sleep," she announced, as though she knew my mind was suddenly alive and jumbled with questions that couldn't be answered.

This was one suggestion I could gladly go along with. There would be plenty of time to question what the future held. For right now, I was content to shut my eyes and ignore the failings of my body so that I could memorize the way she felt next to me. Though I'd come close to dying, my life had been spared when the bomb went off. This was the first taste of heaven I'd had since the explosion, and I wanted to stay here forever.


	12. Getting Physical

_I make no money, and deserve no credit for the characters below that JE created._

_Jenny (JenRar) thank you for your pre-reads, suggestions and proofing work as the beta on this story._

**Chapter 12 – Getting Physical**

_**Ranger's POV **_

Stephanie had a strange effect on me. This wasn't really news... I'd long ago noticed that the control that was so easy to harness away from her completely evaporated in her presence. In the three days since she'd arrived, not only had she pulled me out of the dark place I'd been in since I was hurt, but everyone that had provided my care seemed to recognize the change in me and understood it was because of Stephanie, too.

Johnson still came by once a day for respiratory therapy; Henderson would stop by several times each shift besides the morning check-in, and of course, Maxwell took over an hour or more with me mid-morning. After meeting her once, all of them insisted on having Stephanie present when they were working with me. Strangely, it didn't bother me at all because it meant I got to see her and was quickly coming to learn that there was no such thing as too much time with Stephanie. I also learned that having her watching me brought strength out in me that I hadn't thought was possible. I had begun to accept that I would come out of this with some limitations, but I was determined to stretch those limits as far as possible. After all, I'd beaten the odds on more missions than I could count so maybe I could surpass what the medical experts thought was possible too.

When Maxwell arrived this morning for our session, he was pushing a wheelchair and didn't have his usual cart of tools. "How about we take this show on the road?"

It had been my understanding that everything we'd been working on was for the purpose of getting me up and walking as soon as possible so that I could begin to rebuild my lower body muscles. Seeing the wheelchair made me think he'd changed the plan, and I glared at it much the way I'd looked at the walker when he first brought it out.

"Relax, big guy," Maxwell said when he noticed my response. "We're going to the gym to use some of the equipment there, and it'll go faster if you ride down and then do your walking surrounded by the things you'll need."

"Oh!" Stephanie came over and smiled. "Can I push him down?"

It was a small thing, but her enthusiasm made it hard for me to stay irritated by the rolling symbol of being handicapped. Plus, she'd left herself open for all kinds of comments in return, and I had a feeling she'd done it purposefully. "No!" I pretended to be horrified. "Every time you take a set of wheels that belongs to me, they end up blowing up or somehow getting destroyed."

Her face turned stern, and I briefly wondered if I'd crossed a line, but then she sputtered and began to laugh, still unable to hold a blank face around me. Maxwell took our distracted laugher as a good time to quickly work me through the process of standing and repositioning myself into the chair. He pushed me into the hall and down to the elevator while getting the details from Stephanie about my comment.

By the time we got into the gym, my face was sore from smiling and Maxwell was shaking his head. "Man," he said, lowering his mouth close to my ear. "I figured your injury came from living on the edge in the field, but apparently you're a full throttle adrenaline junkie, if you consider hanging out with her to be your down time activity."

He'd meant it as a joke, but thinking through some of our experiences back home, it might not have been far from the truth. To the outside observer, a woman from the 'Burg could be classified as a safe or boring choice. But being with Stephanie was never boring, and the longer I knew her, the more dangerous it seemed to become.

Once we got to the gym, I felt like I was returning home after a long period away. I'd never been to this particular room in my life, but there was a familiarity with the machines around me, as well as the sounds of the weights being lifted and clanking back down, the grunts of people pushing themselves to exceed what they'd done before, and the steady thumping of feet hitting a treadmill belt at an even run. I'd missed these sounds because they'd begun nearly every day of my life off missions for the last fifteen years.

Maxwell gave me a minute to look around before pointing to the parallel bars to the side. "We're starting over there, and before we leave, you'll be walking from one end to the other."

It seemed like a tall order, but the smile on Stephanie's face told me I'd do it. I'd always been a confident person, knowing what I was capable of and never doubting what I could do. But since I'd been here, that confidence in my physical abilities wasn't as steady. In contrast, Stephanie – who would second guess herself at every turn – seemed to have developed this unending fount of confidence, which I was regularly tapping into in order to keep up with the things expected of me.

Thirty minutes later, sweat was pouring off my brow, and I was as close to giving up as I'd ever been. Maxwell had been giving me instructions, telling me what I needed to do, but my body didn't seem to want to follow his commands. My legs would move by the smallest increments, and my arms were tired from the stress of continuing to support the weight of my body. I stared at my feet, willing them to move more than the inch they seemed insistent on restricting themselves to.

In the background, I heard Stephanie talking, basically commanding someone to move. I would have looked up to see what the problem was that was causing her to speak so harshly to someone, but my eyes were glued to the lack of movement from my feet. It was such a strange sensation to know I was telling them to move but they weren't following the direction. It wouldn't have surprised me at all if someone had popped up and said this was all just a big joke, that the legs I'd been staring at weren't my own.

"Ranger!" Stephanie's voice cut through my internal ramblings and grabbed my attention. "Look at me."

Her voice was stern and didn't leave the option of me telling her I couldn't. My head popped up, and our eyes locked. "Don't you dare look down," she threatened. Then she took a few steps closer, moving to stand three feet away from me.

She softened her gaze, but her voice stayed just as sharp. "Now get over here to me."

It wasn't that far, a single step would have closed the distance before I'd gotten hurt. I was about to tell her it wasn't that simple, but her eyes narrowed, and I knew if I attempted to tell her what I couldn't do, I was going to get an ear full, so I kept my mouth closed and willed my legs to do what needed to be done.

Moving my hands along the bar to keep my full weight off my legs had become natural enough that I shuffled along without having to watch what I was doing. It feel like I was moving, but the distance between us stayed the same. Finally, I managed to reach her, and the expression on her face went from commanding to overwhelmed with joy. She put her arms around me and squeezed tighter than my ribs liked, but I elected to ignore the pain because everything else about having her body pressed to mine was perfect.

"You did it," she whispered.

It was only then that I looked down and saw that I was at the very end of the bars. She had been moving slowly backward to keep the distance between us steady, but because my eyes were so focused on hers, I hadn't noticed both of us traveling in unison.

"I'm so proud of you," she added before stepping back a little to look at me.

I'd thrown that phrase out to her regularly in Trenton and never thought about how it must have made her feel. But if she responded to it anywhere near the way I was right now, then I had grossly underestimated the power of words. I'd always been more of an action type of guy, but this experience had taught me that sometimes, the words were necessary, too. If that were true, then at some point, I was going to have to find the right words to let her know what having her with me meant to me. Of course, I'd have to figure it out myself before I could share it. But this time in the gym was teaching me what small steps could accomplish.

Maxwell stood to the side while we celebrated silently and then jumped in to say, "Great job, Manoso. Now turn, and let's do it again."

It would have been easy to yell at him for interrupting the moment, but I knew I needed to push myself through and do it again in order to capitalize on whatever my legs had done. Muscle memory was important, so the sooner I took real steps, the sooner my legs would begin to believe it was possible.

Copying what she'd done the last time, Stephanie placed herself almost within reach and told me to come to her. I followed, taking a step forward each time she retreated back. Quicker than I thought was possible, she was grinning and pressing herself against me at the end of the bars.

Satisfied with my progress, Maxwell put me on an upper body machine to work my core muscles. When I sat down, I felt some mild throbbing in my lower back and attempted to ignore it. If this was going to be a part of my life from now on, I needed to learn to push through it.

This was work I knew I could do without having to think about it so I settled into the repetition of it and let my mind wander. When I glanced at Steph, she was staring at a treadmill nearby. A thought struck me, and I stilled my movement. This got me immediate attention from both Steph and Maxwell.

"What's wrong?" they asked, virtually in unison.

"Let's make a deal," I teased, looking at Stephanie.

She instantly grew suspicious. "What kind of a deal?"

There was a time when she would have agreed first and asked for details second. Even though it didn't serve my purpose this time, I was glad to see her being more wary.

"I'll keep this up until the taskmaster here says I'm done if you hop up on that treadmill and jog until I'm finished," I offered, crossing my arms as though prepared to stop if she didn't agree to my terms.

"Wait," she complained. "I only made you answer yes or no questions."

"Okay..." I was enjoying this, and from the grin on Maxwell's face, so was he. "Would you like me to stop working out?"

"No," she replied quickly.

"Then get on that treadmill and jog. It's only fair for you to have to work a little, too."

She gave me a trademark eye roll and began to slowly walk over to the machine closest to me.

Maxwell winked at me and said, "I'll get her set up while you start your reps again."

For the next thirty minutes, Stephanie ran while I finished everything Maxwell threw my way. I found when it started getting hard, all I had to do was watch her struggling to run but refusing to give up, and I had the strength I needed to keep pushing forward.

When we finished in the gym, Henderson was waiting on us in my room, along with the surgeon I hadn't seen for a while. "Manoso," he said, tilting his head at me and then glancing at Stephanie and back to me.

I had a feeling he was asking if I wanted Stephanie out before he did an exam or shared any results with me, but there was no way she was leaving. I'd barely let Hector take her with him to go back to the hotel for a shower and change of clothes every day. Those two hours we were apart were the longest ones in my day, so there was no way I was going to voluntarily push her out now.

I took her hand, hoping that would be enough to let him know she stayed, and allowed her to provide the stabilizing support I needed to hoist myself from the wheelchair to the edge of the bed. Before I could slide back to recline, the doctor moved forward and began to run through a number of checks. Apparently satisfied with whatever he'd seen in person, he stepped back to talk about my progress.

"I think it's time to lose the right cast completely and to bring you out of the plaster and into a brace to support your left knee. The lack of extra weight will help with the work you're doing with Maxwell, and the slow reintroduction to movement won't be too much stress on the bones, plus a little extra use of the legs will actually help them to grow stronger. I don't want you to go crazy, but it's time to see what happens when the free movement restores all the circulation. This will be the final barrier of understanding the full extent of the damage from your injuries."

It didn't take a brain surgeon to understand what he was saying. After the casts came off and I started to move around more, whatever numbness and weakness remained was going to be permanent. "How long until we know?" I asked, unsure if I really wanted to know.

"Building up the strength will take time. But the sensation should return quickly over the course of a couple of days maximum," he replied, giving me the news straight out, exactly the way I wanted it.

"All right," I agreed with more confidence than I felt. "When do I lose the extra baggage?"

"Henderson will bring up a tech this afternoon to cut those off," he said.

If it was up to Henderson to get it done, then I felt confident it would happen faster than he'd indicated. She had a way of getting stuff completed quickly.

After answering a few more questions and reviewing instructions with my charge nurse, he excused himself. Just as I'd thought, Henderson announced she'd be back with a saw and somebody to operate it, leaving me alone with Stephanie once more.

"You're nervous," she observed, not judging, merely pointing out what she saw.

"A little." There was no point in denying what was most likely written all over my face. "I want to know exactly what I'm up against, but at the same time..."

"At the same time, if it isn't good news, you can't forget what you've learned, right?" she continued for me, summing up my confusing feelings pretty well. "You know that no matter, what I'll be beside you, right?"

"Why?" I blurted out, not sure if this was the right time to open up this conversation, but unable to hold back the question, either. "Why would you want to tie yourself to someone whose body may be a liability?"

"First of all, I don't think that's going to be the case," she started, almost seeming to be relieved that I'd brought up this conversation. We had both perfected living in denial land and not mentioning the topic that should have been consuming most of our talks. "But even if you never improve past where you are, I would want to be with you. Get it through your thick skull, Manoso. I'm not going anywhere."

"I believe you," I said, and I did – completely. "I just don't fully understand it. I've never been the easiest man to be around when I was in my top form, but if that is compromised, I have even less to offer."

"You're different now," she announced. "Ever since I picked up my phone and you answered, you've changed. You talk to me, you listen to me, you teach me things, and you challenge me in different ways than you ever tried before. I've always considered you one of my best friends, but over the last month-and-a-half, you've cemented that into so much more."

"All that from just saying goodbye on the telephone?" I attempted to make a joke, thinking this might not be a topic I wanted to get into now and hoping laughter would get her distracted enough to drop it.

"No, it's from the hour we spent talking, where I confessed my daily failures, and you didn't yell at me, pick on me, or indicate that I needed to do things differently. You let me lead the conversation, praised me for the few things I managed to do right, and just listened to the rest. You gave me the exact response I needed to feel strong enough to go back out there and try it again," she explained. Then she made a growling sound that was pure frustration and finally blurted out, "I'm not saying this right. It's getting all screwed up."

"We don't have to—" I was going to stop the whole conversation, but she held up a hand to stop me.

"I've loved you for years and never had the guts to say it because you made it clear we couldn't have a relationship. Your actions and your words didn't always match, but I knew you'd never lie to me so I trusted you. Then we had the conversations on the phone, and I felt like I was being completely sucked into you in ways that I'd never escape from. When you said I was your girl and if you made it back to town, you'd treat me that way, I got my first bit of hope that your past stance on nothing more than friendship might be softening. I'd been your woman for years, and I knew what that meant – at least, I thought I did – but when you changed the title, it felt more tender and laced with meaning, and I couldn't fight it anymore, Ranger. I don't _want_ to fight it anymore. I don't need anything official, and I don't need any major life changes. All I need is you. I just need whatever this is we have now to keep going when we get home. If I have this, then you've made me a really happy woman."

I motioned for her to come closer and drew her to stand on either side of my casted legs. I'd be so damn glad to get rid of the extra padding so that I could feel more of her against me when we were like this. Once I had her settled as close as she could be, I said, "I never lied to you – I'm still the kind of guy who carries multiple weapons at all times, I have enemies that would love to get their hands on you, and I still think that condoms are the way to go. But I also know that I like what's happening between us, too, and I don't want to go back to the distance we had in Trenton, either. It still seems like you're being shortchanged in the deal, but if you want it, this is what I can give you." I used a hand to gesture to my body, broken as it was, willing to give her everything I had if it could make her happy. She had been really honest with me, and I owed it to her to return the favor.

"I want it," she said with a sense of urgency. "I want it all."

Since she'd arrived, we had done lots of touching, reassuring contact that kept me from losing my mind with the constant shadow of medical uncertainty hanging over us. But after hearing her confession, I realized I hadn't given her the welcome she deserved. I'd shared more romantic moments with her in the alley behind the bonds office. Surely the privacy of my room would afford us the chance to reunite in a much more fitting way.

I was annoyed that the cast was still on my left arm, but I could still use the fingers on that hand to pull her to me. Then I placed my right hand on her cheek and lifted my face up, drawing her down to me. It was a smooth and slow movement until she was nearly an inch from my face, and then I simply couldn't wait. I stretched my face up until our lips collided.

Stephanie was a passionate woman. She had a temper, a fierce loyalty to her friends, and a highly-developed sense of right and wrong. The fact that she approached everything in life with her all-in mentality should have prepared me for what this would feel like, but I had stupidly assumed that kissing her now would be the same as kissing her had always been – a huge turn-on that was full of excitement. I was a fool to think that we could talk about the fact that there was a commitment to each other, that feelings – as vaguely defined as they were – were involved, and still imagine she would feel the same in my arms.

The second my lips touched hers, I knew my world had just been tipped off its axis. I loved this woman. The warrior in me that only knew how to do things all the way or not at all had decided this woman belonged to him, and he wasn't going to let her go. And everything in me was being drawn to her. My chest swelled up, my arms wanted to squeeze her tight and hold her safely at the same time, and any concerns my doctor might have harbored about my circulation were certainly being disproven as worries. The immediate blood flow south I was experiencing told me all the blood vessels worked just fine.

And then she moaned. Sure, I'd eaten with her enough to know that Steph was vocal when she liked something, but shit, that sound made me wish the door came with a lock and I had a way to engage it. I might be at a major disadvantage physically, but I could get pretty damn creative to hear that sound again – only this time, I wanted it louder and longer.

She pulled back just enough to move her lips against mine. "Ranger, I want to climb inside you." I could feel her arms tightening around my shoulders and drawing me closer to her. The sharp stinging from the tips of her nails digging into me made me want to feel it harder and deeper.

"I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to be the one inside you, Babe," I replied, surprised at how deep my voice sounded. My dick decided to stand up to his full height to show his approval for that plan.

Smoothly, Steph pushed against me so that I angled back on the bed, and then she climbed up so that her knees were straddling my waist. Her hot core was right over my gray shorts stamped with the word Army in block letters. "I'm sorry," she dared to apologize. "I can't get enough of you."

This was like every man's dream – having the woman he adored practically attacking him because she couldn't control her desire for him – and she was apologizing for it. It was hard to get leverage on the floor, but I attempted to plant my feet so that I could raise my hips in order to show her exactly how much I was on board with her plan of attack.

Hopefully she understood just how much I was enjoying what we were doing because I hadn't noticed the door to the room opening and two people entering. Never had I been that unaware of my surroundings.

"Oh hell, Manoso. I was just bragging at how refreshing it was to see two people obviously head over heels for each other, but never having to worry about interrupting any awkward moments because you two were able to control yourselves," Henderson's harsh, but still amused voice declared.

A young guy that certainty didn't seem old enough to be carrying the cast saw in his hand, much less using it near my legs, was staring at his shoes with a red face. I wasn't sure why he was blushing; he hadn't been the one interrupted making out. Then I looked him over and saw that his scrubs were sporting a rather obvious tent in the front. Clearly, he needed to learn better methods of distancing himself from what he might see in the hospital. I'm sure we weren't the only couple incapable of waiting any longer than necessary to reunite physically.

Stephanie attempted to get off me, but I tightened my grip at her hip and leaned to her ear to whisper, "We'll stop now, but when they leave, we are so picking this up where we left off."

"Good," she replied firmly. "Because you can't start a fire like that and then do nothing about it."

I smirked as I pulled back, knowing I had no intention of letting her smolder for very long. This time when she pulled back, I let her climb to the side, clearing the view of my own tented pants. The kid with the saw definitely noticed, and his eyes got slightly bigger before his face turned even redder. It shouldn't have been funny, but in the back of my mind, I could hear a voice saying, _That's right, kid. Size__ matters_.

Steph's hand squeezed my shoulder, causing me to look at her, and she smiled before mouthing the word, "Behave," in my direction.

I raised an eyebrow in her direction, daring her to point out something I'd done wrong.

When I heard the saw buzzing after he plugged it in, I lost a little of my swagger. And the second he started buzzing through the cast, I lost the support pole in my shorts, as well. He worked quickly but smoothly, and I realized Henderson had a way of surrounding herself with only the absolute best. I shouldn't have doubted his abilities because of his age or social awkwardness.

When he finished, he unplugged the saw and wrapped the cord around the base before lifting his eyes to look at Stephanie. Instantly, his face turned pink, and because I'm a red-blooded male, I let a growl rumble in my chest to let him know I was aware of the fact that he was checking out my woman. As long as he backed up now and stopped the obvious staring, I'd let it go.

He spun around and disappeared within seconds, leaving Stephanie and Henderson laughing. I couldn't figure out if they were amused by his fast departure or my imitation of a caveman. Deciding it really didn't matter to me which had caused the hysterics, I let it go and just enjoyed the sound of Stephanie's joy filling the room. There were a lot of things I wanted to give her that I couldn't really deliver on in my current condition. But at the moment, just knowing I'd made her happy gave me a much-needed ego boost.

_**Stephanie's POV**_

Over the last week, I'd tried nearly everything to keep Ranger engaged: challenging him during physical therapy to work harder, doing things to ease him subtly so he didn't realize I was helping him, and even distracting him by asking for advice with how I'd handled cases in the past to keep him thinking of anything other than his physical limitations. I was quickly running out of techniques to keep him moving forward without concentrating on what he could or couldn't do.

During all my efforts, I had tried to keep a certain distance just because I didn't want us to get too physical and then have him shut down out of some twisted and misguided sense that if he couldn't give me everything in bed, he might want to hold out on giving me anything. That would be such a male thing to do, and I wasn't sure I'd survive him heating me up and then shutting me down and drawing a "do not cross" line between us.

Despite my best intentions, when he kissed me, I found myself falling headfirst into him and practically attacking him. Once it seemed like he was completely on board, it was even harder to hold back. I apologized, not wanting to scare him – or even worse, hurt him – but the attraction we'd always had was magnified by the close quarters, near constant company, and lack of anything sexual for months. The moment he pushed against me and I got a feel for just how into this he was, I lost all sense of propriety, determined to get as much of him as physically possible.

Of course, Henderson would choose that exact moment to come in. She and I had shared many cups of coffee while Ranger slept. She'd encouraged me to keep pushing him, convinced that a man as hard as Ranger needed that to have something to fight against. Yesterday, she had challenged me to start pushing him for other things, too, saying the attraction between the two of us was tangible, and everybody that came into the room when we were together seemed to leave slightly hot and bothered just from being around us.

So, having her walk in and pretend to be offended was amusing. Then to see Ranger practically beat the poor tech with the cast saw just for looking at me was too much, and I couldn't stop myself from laughing. Normally, I would have worked hard to keep from insulting someone, but I couldn't contain it any longer. When my reaction seemed to please Ranger, I was even happier. He wasn't fighting the way he felt, which meant there was a chance he was feeling the same way I was.

It probably would make sense to attempt to qualify exactly how we both felt, but right now wasn't the right time for more deep conversations. At the moment, Ranger was in high spirits, and it appeared as though I'd played at least a small role in that emotion for him. There were all kinds of things I wanted to add to that, but knowing that I'd made him happy gave me the much-needed boost to keep handling him as I had been.


	13. Pressure and Possibilities

_Janet created the characters I'm playing with below._

_Jenny (JenRar) I can't thank you enough for your work on this story as the beta._

**Chapter 13 – Pressure and Possibilities**

_**Stephanie's POV**_

"I need to let you in on the talk I'm hearing about you in file review," Henderson said, putting an end to the light mood that had been in the room.

"What kind of talk?" Ranger asked, going from happy to full-throttle threat elimination mood in less than a second.

"You're making unbelievable progress," she began, helping Ranger to relax that the conversation was about his health, not his safety. "I've pulled a lot of strings to keep you on this floor, despite our care typically being more acute. But I'm pretty sure, when the doctor puts you up for transfer, Maxwell is going to agree. You're up for release, or at the very least, relocation."

"Which will it be?" Ranger pushed for more details.

She turned the tables back around on him. "Do you have a preference?"

He looked down at his newly-freed legs. "It seems early for a complete release and return to home."

She nodded as though his answer didn't shock her. "If you're transferred, you'll go stateside. Usually, you would end up in the VA closest to your home that's capable of handling your specific injuries. If you're released from the hospital, you still have some obvious therapy needs, and you'd have some options of how you want to proceed."

Ranger made hand gesture that indicated he was interested in hearing his options. I figured he wouldn't care for being sent to Trenton and having to stay in the hospital. He might have been on board with me finding him, but the few times we'd discussed the guys, Ranger had made it clear he wasn't ready to see them or even talk to them. I knew there was some significant baggage from this injury and assumed it was why he was shutting out his friends. There would come a time when I'd push it, but it didn't seem like we were there quite yet.

Henderson explained, "You can do your therapy stateside with a therapist of your choice or with one we recommend. Or you can stay somewhere close by here and come in daily for your therapy with Maxwell."

"How long can he see me privately?" Ranger asked her.

She shrugged as though it wasn't that big of a deal. "He spends about a fourth of his day seeing patients who are here in the hospital. The rest of his time is with outpatient needs. That schedule, he sets himself, so my guess is he'd see you as long as there was a need for his services." It looked like she was finished answering, but then she jumped in once more. "For the record, he'll only take you so far. Once he gets you near the end, he's probably going to suggest you go home. Guys with his skill set like to work where they can do the most good, but once it gets to the point of anyone being able to give you what he's offering, he usually refers you to someone else."

My experience with therapists was pretty limited, but I could see that Maxwell was that perfect blending of hard-ass Army guy and brilliant medical man that knew how to get the most out of everyone he worked with. As much as I wanted him to be the one working with Ranger, I also recognized that he needed to be where he was needed the most.

Ranger shifted to look at me and asked, "Any chance your hotel room has room for one more?"

"I'm pretty sure I can make room for you in my bed, Batman," I teased, wanting to lighten the mood a little.

He raised a single eyebrow, as though challenging the idea that I'd tell him he couldn't join me, but said nothing additional. "If he will continue working with me, I'd rather stay local for a while longer until I'm steadier on my feet. After that, if he wants to refer me on, I'll need a few days to figure out where I'll be going from here."

"I assumed you'd go back home," Henderson stated matter-of-factly.

"No," Ranger disagreed with her assumption.

I looked at his face, trying to get a read on what he was thinking, but couldn't see anything past the determination to avoid Trenton at all costs.

They spoke for a few more moments, and Henderson promised to let us know what happened in their next staff review of cases. In the meantime, she told us to relax and continue on like we had been. As soon as the door closed, I swallowed hard and hoped my voice would sound firm so he wouldn't pick up on my nervousness about the question I was about to ask.

"Why don't you want to go home?"

"Go home to what?" Ranger replied, sounding harsh despite the fact I could see he was flexing his fist as he sometimes did when he was trying to hold back.

"To RangeMan," I began, hoping he would help me understand. "To your family and friends."

His eyes darted to the ceiling and then back down to look at me. "Not like this."

"Like what?" I wasn't trying to play stupid, but I needed to know what he was thinking if I was going to help him understand how twisted it was.

He let out a long breath, and I briefly wondered if I'd pushed him too much. "I'm not the leader they need. If I can't be that, then it's best they don't see me at all to keep from confusing things."

"I thought we'd already discussed how you had the guys' respect no matter what," I said, reiterating one of our earlier conversations about his condition.

"I'm not going home in a damn wheelchair," he argued stubbornly.

"No one has indicated that you'll have to use a wheelchair," I countered, trying to push a little reality into the conversation. "You were already making progress with the casts. Now that they're off, you should be walking soon."

"Until I can run on my own, I can't go back there." He'd spoken much softer this time, as though he didn't have much fight left in him about the subject.

There was a huge part of me that wanted to question what would happen if he couldn't run again. What if walking with a limp or a cane was the best he could do? Was he saying he was never returning to our lives there? I loved this man and would do anything for him, but could I turn my back on my family and the life I had made for myself in Jersey? Of course I could, but what kind of life would we have together if we lived just to avoid seeing people instead of living with the joy of interacting with those we loved the most?

"If you want to go back, I understand," he interrupted my thoughts to say. "I won't ask you to stay here with the uncertainty of what I will be able to do."

"Shut up," I all but yelled at him. I hadn't seen him this defeated since my first day here, and I refused to let him slip back into this kind of funk. "You aren't sending me away, and you don't get to tell me what I should do. I brought myself here, and only I will say when I'm leaving."

There was shock written all over his face at my words, and since surprise was better than depression, I decided to keep my tone harsh to say the rest of what needed to be said. "You're getting better every day. And now that they've gotten the casts off, your progress can really start to move forward. I'm not leaving your side, so you're going to have to tell me when you're ready to leave, and you're going to have to put up with me occasionally asking about going home. I don't want to leave you; I want you to come with me. I know you've got your reasons for wanting to avoid the guys, but as far as I'm concerned, it's more male pride than necessity. So, I'll honor your wishes because I respect you, but there will come a time when I might start pushing you to reconsider."

The silence in the room began to stretch out, and the longer he went without speaking, the more likely it was that he was going to be pissed at me for crossing the line. When he finally opened his mouth, I was surprised to hear him say, "You've gotten tougher."

"I've been spending a lot of time lately with this real badass, and I think he's wearing off on me," I tried teasing, hoping he would follow suit.

When his hand began to lift, I quickly reached out to meet him halfway. "I know I can't avoid it forever," he admitted. "But I'm not ready to face them yet, either."

"How about letting me run a little interference?" I suggested. "I'll give them a status update so they know you're okay but put off any commitments about when they'll see us again."

A grimace was the initial response, which told me more than any words could. "Someday, but not yet."

"There was a time when I thought someday was another way of saying never," I pointed out, thinking about the way he used to say we might be able to have a relationship _someday._

"Now what do you think?"

He seemed interested in my answer, so I knew a shrug wasn't going to do it. "I think that someday is what you make of it." I tried to pick my words carefully. "If you throw it out as a vague term, then it stays in the future and never happens. But if you commit that once a series of things happen then it can become a reality, then I see it as an achievable period."

"You sound like you're speaking from experience," he said softly. I had a feeling he was digging to get me to say more but wasn't willing to put himself out there and ask directly what it was he hoped to hear.

Hoping my gut instinct wasn't about to cause me to open a can of worms that I wouldn't be able to shut later, I finally answered, "There was a time I thought having a relationship with you someday meant only in my dreams."

"And now?"

"I'm living my dream now, so I'd say my someday is today," I told him, forcing myself to hold the eye contact so he would be able to see the sincerity on my face that matched what I was saying.

Ranger's index finger traced my jaw line so softly, it almost tickled. "I feel the same way. There's a part of me that says I'm being a selfish bastard for letting you spend time with me instead of being free to do other things, but I can't push you away."

"Good," I affirmed. "Because I wouldn't go, and then you'd have to deal with me being angry because you tried to tell me what to do. That never goes over well."

"That seems vaguely familiar to me," he replied dryly. "I know the guys will want to know what's going on, and we'll figure out how to tell them, but not until I have a better handle on what I'm capable of."

I nodded, knowing that was probably all he could agree to right now. The uncertainty was hard enough for him to deal with, but the thought of trying to show this much weakness in front of the guys was beyond what he could imagine.

We settled back in bed together and talked for a while until Hector came to force me back to the hotel for a shower and quick nap. Ranger always insisted I go, but he never seemed to want to let go of my hands. Fortunately, Hector had made this non-negotiable as a part of his conditions for watching over me, so I didn't worry about Ranger reading anything into it when I forced myself to get up and leave. He kissed me, lingering a little more than he had been previously, and then told me to hurry back.

Hector followed me out of the room, staying within inches like he always did. This time when we got to the hallway, he stopped me and pulled me against him for a hug. Hector wasn't exactly the touchy-feely type. He would hug me, and occasionally we'd kiss the cheek of the other person, but that was the extent of it. I stiffened when he first pulled me against him, but once his arms settled around me, making a little cocoon of protection and warmth, I melted into him. His hands rubbed up and down my back for a moment until I completely relaxed, finally letting go of the stress of the mini-confrontation with Ranger.

"Now we go and get you cleaned up," he said softly.

It wasn't until I stepped underneath the shower spray that I realized being strong for Ranger was exhausting. It had taken his nurse mentioning the possibility of him being discharged that everything hit me. In the hospital, I played a supporting role, with the staff there doing all the hard stuff. Without them around regularly, it would just be me and Ranger all the time, except for the hour or so he spent in a private session with Maxwell. As much as I wanted him to be well enough for that step to make sense, I also wondered if I was qualified to take care of him without the help of the staff for support.

Once I began to prune, I forced myself out of the shower and tried to paint on a face to hide the bags that were beginning to form under my eyes. Neither of us slept very well, but I refused to let it show around Ranger because I knew he'd make me come back here to sleep. Sure, it would be better for me, but I also recognized that he only really slept in the hospital when I was with him, so I figured he would heal faster if I stayed as much as possible to keep him calm. He'd done the same thing for me on more than one occasion, so I had to at least try to do it in return.

After I was finished and satisfied no one could see more than I wanted them to, I stepped back out into the hotel suite and saw Hector on the phone. He quickly ended his conversation and indicated we would return to the hospital. It surprised me because he usually insisted I lay down for a little bit to rest, but today, he wasn't pushing it.

Of course, the moment we walked in and I saw Henderson sitting on a sofa, I realized he'd brought me back for a reason.

"Come on," she said, smiling at Hector and nodding to a door that I knew was the entrance to Maxwell's therapy gym. "I know where we can get a truly horrible cup of coffee and talk without being interrupted."

"No leave," Hector said, extracting the same promise he always did that I wouldn't step out of the hospital without him being with me. He'd obviously taken my protection very seriously, and since I figured the guys would already be mad at him for taking me out of the country without warning them, sticking by his rules was the least I could do.

The cafeteria was exactly like one you'd find just about anywhere in America, except the people here were speaking a greater variety of languages. Henderson led us to a table near a window that was in an alcove to provide protection on three sides and give us the illusion of complete privacy.

After she set two cups of horribly strong coffee in front of us, she asked, "All right, honey, how are you holding up?"

Ever since I'd gotten this saint of a woman on the phone when I was trying to verify where Ranger was, I'd felt as though she was trustworthy. The way she took obvious pride in her work and the top notch care she'd given Ranger only reinforced that idea. So, when she asked, I didn't hesitate to respond.

"I'm tired, I'm so proud of the progress he's making, but I'm afraid he'll need things I can't provide once he's discharged, and I'm worried he'll resent me for being around him all the time yet unable to help him like he needs me to."

"Man, when you unload, you go for the gold, don't you?" she teased, sipping the coffee as though it were tasty. Then she got serious, staring at me over the top of the steaming brew. "He needs you."

"I need him," I replied honestly.

"When I first brought you into his room, I thought for sure he'd throw you out," she confessed with a smile. "I've seen his type over the years, and their pride doesn't usually get over an injury like this, so they spiral out of control in a bottomless pit of pity, lashing out at anyone who tries to help." She laughed slightly, as though remembering something. "Then I realized that he responded best to me when I was tough – commanding, almost – so that he knew I wasn't going to stand by and let him wallow in misery. I figured the only way he'd let you stay was if you stood up to him, but I held my tongue, knowing you'd have to have that kind of strength inside you, or you'd never be able to fake it enough to convince him."

My eyes rolled at the idea of trying to lie to Ranger. I knew better than to even try.

"The fact that he didn't throw you out spoke volumes for how much he needed something to hold onto. But then every time he tried to push, I watched you shove right back. You're exactly what he needed, capable of doing more for him than any medicine a doctor could prescribe. Of course you're tired – hell, some days I'm exhausted just watching you care for him. But you can't give up," she warned.

"No chance of that," I promised. "I'm too stubborn to quit, and he means too much to me to walk away from."

"Then just keep doing what you're doing," she encouraged.

"What if it's not enough?" I allowed myself to wonder out loud. "What if his legs never heal enough from this that he's comfortable resuming his life at home? I've seen it in his eyes a couple of times. I'm worried that if Maxwell were to tell him there was nothing more that could be done and he was going to be left hobbling for the rest of his life and living in the pain he's got now, that Ranger would find a way to end it all."

Henderson made a gesture that told me I was worried over nothing. "I know what you mean, and I don't mean to discount it. I saw that look in his eyes a few times, as well, but he's fought past it since you've been here. He's clinging to you, so as long as you're around, he won't go back to that place."

"But what if…" I couldn't finish the question, partly because I couldn't bring myself to say it and partly because she stopped me.

"I've watched his progress. He's going to keep fighting until he's got this under control. I don't think he'll ever be back at his previous level, but he'll master walking unaided and without any visible signs of his injury," she said with such confidence that I began to feel my hope that it was true grow. "As long as you're around, he'll find that place of strength inside himself to do whatever is asked of him because letting you down is not an option."

My breath came out in a long gush as the pressure of what she was saying hit me.

Picking up on what I was thinking, she continued to talk. "You will play a vital role in getting him back, but he needs a whole network of support, as well. I've heard him arguing about keeping his friends and employees in the States in the dark about what's going on. Soon, he's going to need them. So you may need to find a way to leverage the power you have over him to get them connected."

"I can't betray him by doing something he's told me not to do," I warned her, knowing I wouldn't do it.

"No, you can't," she agreed, putting me at ease once more about what she might be suggesting. "But Maxwell would normally only see a person for another week or so after discharge. My guess is he'll make an exception for Manoso because of the obvious interest he has in your bodyguard. But even that won't keep him away from the more serious injuries he usually attends to. My guess is somewhere between two and four weeks max is how much time you have here. When Maxwell finishes with what he's going to do, you need to make him go home. The sooner he returns to his life, the greater the chance he will. If he leaves here and convinces himself he's not a hundred percent yet, attempting to just put it off a little while, he'll never go home, and a piece of the man you love will die away, giving up on his life."

I rubbed my forehead with my palm, not sure I could do what she was implying. Every time I'd brought up Trenton, he'd shut it down or given me just enough to make me hush without actually committing to anything.

Henderson pulled my other hand off my coffee cup and held it between hers in a maternal way. Once she had my full attention, she patted my hand just like Grandma Mazur would and said, "Don't worry about it now because it's energy wasted on something that you can do nothing about at the moment. When the time comes, you'll know what to do."

"I will?" I wondered, wishing I shared her confidence.

"You will," she assured me, as though there was no possibility of it being any other way.

By the time I got back to Ranger's room, I'd been gone over two and a half hours. I knew that was longer than usual, so when I walked in and he was sitting on the edge of his bed with a crease in his forehead, I knew he'd been worried.

"Hey..." I walked quickly to his side, to see if I could help him stand. "I told you I'd be back. You weren't about to go looking for me, were you?"

He shook his head, but he didn't say no, which seemed strange. He put a hand on my arm and rubbed his thumb over my skin. When I glanced up from the contact between us, he was watching me closely.

"You're exhausted, aren't you?"

"I grabbed a cup of really bad coffee with Henderson instead of taking a nap like I usually do," I confessed, figuring there was no point in lying to him because he'd see right through me anyway.

"Why don't you sleep here?" he suggested, pointing to his bed.

"Would you like to take a nap?" I wondered, figuring he was suggesting I sleep because it's what he wanted to do.

"No," he said, almost as though the response surprised him. "I want you to sleep, and I'm going to sit in that chair." He pointed to what had been my perch anytime I wasn't cuddled up next to him in his bed.

"We can talk," I offered, figuring he was refusing to rest because something was on his mind.

"If there's something on your mind, we can," he countered, "but I'm used to sitting in a chair by the side of your bed while you're sleeping, and it's been a long time since I've done it. My memory tells me it used to help me sort out my thoughts, so I think it could be good for me. And based on how you look, a little extra rest would be good for you, too."

Damn, I hated it when he made an argument that didn't give me any grounds to argue over. "Don't you think it's kind of strange for me to be sleeping in your bed while you sit in the chair and watch me?"

"Maybe to some people, but it works for us," he replied with his former swagger that told me he wasn't going to back down.

There were times for standing up to him and times for letting him have his way. My gut told me this was the latter, so I nodded, feeling more exhausted by the moment and knowing that he would stay by my bedside in my apartment every night before he left on a mission. When I'd asked why he did that, he said it helped him pull himself together to face whatever was waiting on him in the field. I had a feeling we were at a crossroads in his treatment, and he needed a chance to get his head around all the possibilities of how he might come out of this.

_**Ranger's POV**_

Despite how much I hated the damn walker, I used it anyway to move the six small steps from my bed to the chair beside it. I had to admit, moving without the casts felt strange, but it was infinitely easier. Once I settled down, Stephanie kicked off her shoes and climbed into my bed, settling down on her side and shutting her eyes. It only took a matter of minutes before her breathing began to even out, and I knew she was asleep. I'd always admired her ability to shut out the world and rest.

The peace that she projected when she rested was a tangible thing. I'd spent countless hours watching her and letting it wash over me until I was surrounded by the sensation that only she could bring to me.

Maxwell had stopped by when she and Hector were gone to talk about my progress and how he wanted to change things up now that the casts were gone. We were going to do our morning session. Then he'd have me follow up with time walking on the hospital floor in the afternoon, and finally, he'd send a massage therapist up to my room in the evening to help work out the extra tension the work would no doubt bring to my body. He felt that with the new regime, he could justify at least a couple of more days in the hospital. Then we'd work a similar outpatient schedule, but he'd show Stephanie how to handle the massage in the evenings to support what he thought was a vital need for the program to work.

In his estimation, I'd be walking unaided within a week to ten days, provided my body didn't throw anything unexpected our way. After I was up and mobile, he said any therapist could continue my work, and as much as he wanted me to stick around so he could continue getting to know Hector, he felt like I'd progress better in my own home, with a dedicated therapist.

I wasn't shocked about Maxwell and Hector together. From the moment I'd first met my PT, he'd reminded me of my old friend, so seeing them together made sense. It was more surprising that Hector was pursuing him, but everything about him appearing in Germany with Stephanie in tow was unexpected, so this was just one more characteristic to add to the list.

It appeared as though in two more weeks, I'd be done with what Maxwell could provide, and I'd know where my body was going to end up. On the one hand, it was a plus because that was a very manageable time frame. But on the other hand, it meant that in two short weeks, I'd be faced with the decision of where to go.

Stephanie seemed to think Trenton was the right answer, but I wasn't sure I was ready to face the guys yet. Right now, I could get away with playing it by ear, but I knew how quickly the time could pass, taking away my ability to make alternate plans. I knew she wouldn't force the issue, but if the time ran out and I wasn't happy with my progress, I didn't know how I would handle being around the guys I'd always led by example.

Of course, the biggest problem was that I couldn't figure out how I'd handle the look of disappointment in her eyes if I told her I wasn't going back to Trenton. I hated decisions that boiled down to the lesser of two evils. On the one hand, I had her big blue eyes, devoted to me but hurt that I was keeping her from her friends and family. On the other hand, there were the expressions of sympathy and pity the guys would undoubtedly give me. Shit, neither was something I wanted to face.

She made a noise and repositioned herself, drawing my attention back to her face. Damn it, there was no way to win this easily, but in my heart, I knew that if it came down to my pride or her happiness...bringing her a little joy was about the most noble thing I could think of to do with whatever kind of life I was able to scratch out after this. I couldn't promise it would last, but in the silence of the room, with her sounds of sleep around me, I knew that for her, I would try to go home.


	14. Trust

_The brilliance of JE brought the characters to life below. _

_Jenny (JenRar) thank you for letting me invade your inbox and dump all my rough chapters on you. Beta skills like yours are hard to find, and I recognize how fortunate I am to be able to work with you._

**Chapter 14 - Trust**

_**Ranger's POV**_

"You're overcompensating still and lifting your legs to put them down flat-footed. It's keeping your gait from being smooth," Maxwell pointed out as he squatted on the floor and stared at me moving past him with nothing in my hands for support.

For the past two days, he'd drilled me on walking, and I'd been practicing upstairs. I could do really well with a wooden walking stick in each hand. It wasn't ideal, but I could manage. Of course, I was insisting on trying without any crutches, and for some reason, without the security of the wooden supports, my movements were jerky and awkward.

"Why is it harder without something to hold onto?" I questioned. "I'm walking normally when something is in my hand, but the second I let go, it goes to hell."

He'd been around frustrated soldiers enough to not even acknowledge my tone but answered my question instead. "It's because you still need the support. Those legs might be knitted together, but they're still fragile. If you'd only injured one, I have a feeling the doctor would have recasted you for another week. You're putting your full weight on a bone that's barely ready for that kind of strain. Your body is compensating to keep you from doing something to reinjure yourself. It's instinct, and there's no point in fighting it. You just have to learn to work with it."

"How do you work with it?" I asked, exasperated.

Maxwell made a motion to get Stephanie's attention. She was jogging on a treadmill nearby, having continued the habit of working out herself while I was being put through my paces. I hadn't said anything to her about it, but I truly appreciated her effort. I knew she hated running, but she got up there and did something she didn't like so that she was nearby if I needed her; having her near but doing her own thing meant there was no reason to tense up out of concern that she was watching my every move and judging my progress. I was doing more than enough judging for both of us and definitely didn't need the pressure to perform added on top of that.

She hopped down and came over, still breathing a little faster than normal. The running was paying off because she had begun to slim down slightly. It wasn't anything big, because she'd already had a stunning figure, but her stomach was a little flatter, and her legs seemed more solid. Fortunately, she still had her trademark curves, which were enough to distract me no matter what mood I was in.

My attention snapped back to the present when I realized Maxwell was speaking to her about me. "I want Ranger to walk from here to the treadmill you were just on, but I want him to do it with a hand on you."

"Sure," she quickly agreed with a smile. There was truly nothing this woman wouldn't do for me.

Not sure where to put my hand, Maxwell solved the problem by suggesting that the first time, I rest it on her shoulder. I was determined to keep my weight off her, but I had to admit than when I began to walk, it was so much easier to move smoothly.

Once we managed to complete that pass, he had us do it again, but holding hands. It worked fine, but I was more comfortable with my hand on her shoulder. The final attempt was with my hand at her waist. The second I put my arm around her back, resting my hand at the curve there, she melted against me.

"More walking, less sweet romantic stuff," he pretended to complain. It didn't carry much weight because I'd seen him with Hector in the hall upstairs, and those two could be every bit as sappy as Steph and I were.

We started to move once more, and I found that even though this position didn't do much as far as supporting me, I was most comfortable holding onto her like this. It didn't seem as forced as my hand on her shoulder, but I could feel my stride smoothing out better than it had been when I was farther from Steph's body, just holding her hand. Something about our sides being in contract made me feel more balanced.

"Well, there's your go-to way to cover up if you're walking in public and need a little help," he blurted out, mirroring what I'd been thinking. "You two move together so smoothly, it's hard to focus on watching your legs because my eyes want to watch your faces instead."

The rest of our time was spent with me emulating what he considered to be usual daily tasks and using Steph as a mobile support when necessary to move about without using my walking sticks. It was getting easier to move, and the stabbing sensation I'd begun with was down to just a mild soreness by the time I finished for the day.

"You're making great progress," he informed me. "Tomorrow will be your last day inpatient, so your rubdown tonight with Greg will be Steph's last chance to learn how to care for the tenderness that will build from our sessions."

He was speaking to me, but when he said the last part, he looked over to her. "You need to be sure you've asked every question you need to in order to understand how to work out the knots that will quickly come on if he doesn't get them rubbed out early."

She nodded, but her brow was definitely showing the worry that was brewing inside her. I had no doubt she could do it, but I could tell that she didn't share my confidence.

"Any questions so far?" he asked, always giving me a chance to voice concerns before we stopped completely.

"No, but you realize your daily task exercise doesn't really copy the things I have to do on a daily basis," I pointed out, not sure if I was trying to be argumentative or make a joke. There was a lot more to my day besides sitting in a desk chair and walking to a copier. I knew that the transitions of standing and sitting were important, but they were the least of my worries at the moment. I needed to be able to walk from my car to a meeting without giving away the fact that I could be knocked over easily.

Maxwell laughed and said, "True, but until I can get approval to install a gun range and a paintball course down here, you're going to have to make due with the basic office drills."

Hearing that he understood that my life held more dangers than the fear of misfiling something helped me to lighten up. It was probably for the best because Hector had reappeared, and something told me he wouldn't appreciate coming in to find me arguing with the man he was spending all his spare time with. I hadn't asked him yet what was going on between them, but I wondered how he would deal with it when I was fully discharged and we had to leave Germany. I couldn't picture Hector living anywhere other than Trenton, but those two had certainly grown close, and I got the impression that leaving wouldn't be easy.

As we left, he reminded me to get in at least two half-hour walks around the floor upstairs before Greg came up after dinner for a rubdown. I hadn't decided yet if I liked the massages. That guy seemed to have a gift for finding all the places that hurt and working on them right up front so that it felt more like abuse than therapy. Of course, by the time he was done, I couldn't deny that I was more relaxed and the tightness in my lower back was gone.

That evening, I felt more like a training dummy than a patient as Greg showed Stephanie exactly what he was doing and explained why he went for specific areas first. He talked to her about using leverage since her hands wouldn't be as strong as his were and then warned her that if she just gave me a top layer-only massage, it would allow my muscles to knot up overnight and potentially reverse the progress I'd made the day before. Without this step in my therapy, my muscles would lock down, and I'd have to fight through immense pain to walk at all.

Hearing him pile on the pressure made me want to tell him to shut up and find someone else to do the massage. No wonder Steph had been worried in the gym this morning. If someone told me I held the key to Stephanie being able to walk, I'd damn near panic, too.

By the time he'd finished and left, I was beat and wanted nothing more than to just roll back over and go to sleep, but I knew I couldn't let her stew over those directions from Greg all night. Once I'd settled on my back, I opened my arms and invited her to join me in the bed.

She didn't even hesitate and moved to climb up next to me, finding the space on my shoulder where her head was comfortable and then sighing aloud as she relaxed in her spot.

"We'll try it tomorrow night," I announced, "and if you don't think it's working, then we'll tell Maxwell and get someone to come to the hotel. This isn't a burden you have to bear."

Her shoulders slowly lowered as I spoke, and I could feel her releasing the worry of what might happen if she couldn't do everything as Greg had showed her. "I want to do it," she replied softly, "But I want you to have the best of everything, and if I can't give you that, then I don't want to get in the way of you getting better. You're working so hard, and you're making so much progress."

"That's all because of you," I told her.

"I'm not doing anything," she disagreed quickly.

"Having you here is worth more than you know," I informed her, surprised she still hadn't accepted that as true.

"Then why did you try to hide it from me?" she wondered. "You wanted me to stay away."

"I've made mistakes along the way," I confessed, finding it easier to say than I'd thought it would be. "It seems I've wasted a lot of energy saying one thing to you all the while wishing something entirely different."

"It would be easier if you'd just said what you wanted," she pointed out the obvious. After I'd nodded my agreement, she added, "Any chance you might work on that?"

I laughed. "You used to be easier to get off the subject."

"The new me doesn't like getting pushed around," she said, reminding me again of how much stronger she seemed now. This strength had nothing to do with the amount of time she was spending on the treadmill, but the results were just as visible to my eyes.

"Talk to me," I prompted when the room grew quiet. It reminded me of the first few days I was in the hospital and I'd asked her to fill the silence by telling me what was going on in her life so that I could escape from my own.

"Anything in particular?" She never said no when I asked her for something.

"It doesn't matter," I told her honestly. Anything she wanted to share with me, I definitely wanted to hear.

She was silent just long enough that I wondered if she'd gone to sleep, but then she lifted her head and said, "Would you like to know how Hector got me out of RangeMan undetected?"

I could tell she wasn't sure I wanted to hear about Trenton. I'd spent a lot of time dodging any mention of home or RangeMan, so I understood her reluctance. The difference was, she was willing to share something about herself in relation to the guys back home. That was totally different than just talking to me about them specifically.

When I nodded that I wanted to hear it, she put her head back where it had been and began to talk.

"He knew I was being watched because of the whole Miller and Malone mess, so he told Tank I wanted to see Grandma Mazur and had asked him to take me. I can't believe Tank fell for it, but Hector is the only person Grandma Mazur doesn't seem to intimidate, so it made sense that I would go to him for an escort over to my parents' house. He picked me up from my cubicle, and we took his RangeMan SUV straight to my parents' house. When we got there, someone was waiting in a Firebird that would have made Lula jealous. When the guy got out, he barely looked old enough to be driving, but Hector greeted him with some complicated hand thing and then switched keys with him."

That explained how he'd thrown the guys off his trail from the beginning. The control room would have seen exactly what they were supposed to see, so no warning bells would have gone off in time to catch them before they'd gotten to the airport.

"He gave the kid some cash and a list of addresses and told him to drive the SUV to each location before parking it in front of RangeMan that evening and sneaking away. It wasn't until they were standing side by side with Hector going a mile a minute in Spanish that I realized they were dressed identically and even looked a lot alike. If the guys saw him drive up, they would assume it was Hector without questioning it."

I wasn't entirely sure that was true, but it might buy them a few more minutes before someone went out to investigate.

"Then we got into the Firebird and took off to the airport. While we were driving, he gave me a license for Stephanie Castillo that matched the last name on the ID he was using. When we got there, he greeted somebody else, who took off in the car, I guess to return it to whoever he'd borrowed it from, and we made it through security with no issues. He'd timed it so that we walked right up to the gate where they were already boarding and handed them our tickets. By the time we stowed our bags and got our seatbelts on, they were closing the door, and we were on our way."

She chuckled a little at that and then explained, "If I'd tried to time something like that, we'd have gotten stuck in traffic or held up at security and missed the flight, but with Hector, it's like everyone just bends to his will and looks the other direction because they're afraid of being caught staring at him."

"Did you fly straight here?" I wondered, not sure how he managed to throw them off his trail out of the country.

"No, we flew direct to the Bahamas and then took a boat to a different island. From there, we flew to France and then drove here. Every leg of the trip was done with a different name, which was amazing to me. How did he have time to create that many driver's license and passport combinations? My passports all had stamps in them, too, as though I'd been traveling the world for a while now."

It didn't seem like the right time to explain that I'd had Hector create half a dozen aliases for her a year ago. RangeMan did it for anyone on staff, but I'd had him make a small collection to be kept by him alone in case something horrible happened and she ever needed complete secrecy to cover her tracks. No one but he and I knew about the extra IDs, and my guess was he'd pulled them out, along with the cash I'd given him to save for her alone, in order to bankroll their trip. Hector's office was more secure than mine, and he would die before betraying my secrets, so anytime I needed something covered, I always went to him.

"Once we got here, he booked us into a hotel nearby. I was disappointed that it wasn't one of the four that were really close, but I didn't question it because I figured it was all about maintaining a cover, and he'd made every single part of the trip flow perfectly, so I trusted him to know what he was doing."

Hector knew that if the guys started searching for her, they'd begin with specific hotels, so keeping her out of those would delay them even further.

"Yesterday, I asked him what he'd really told the guys back home, and he smiled at me, which made me nervous, so I kept after him until he finally gave in. Initially, he'd let them believe we were at my parents' house, or if they followed the tracker, we were at a diner, an ice cream shop, the mall, and then back to RangeMan. He didn't call until we were in the Bahamas. He bought a disposable phone to tell them that he had me with him and he would watch over me with his life, but that his contacts on the street had said the deal with Malone was escalating and I was in danger – that he was getting me out of town so they could eliminate the threat. He initially told them they had two weeks to neutralize it, but that if they hadn't dealt with it all by then, he was coming back, and he'd rain down on the whole Malone family until it was settled."

Clearly, I needed to speak to Hector alone. I'd asked him when they arrived if she was in any danger, and he'd said no. Now I was starting to wonder it that was because she was with him and he felt he could keep her safe, or if he was just shitting the guys to keep them off his back. Regardless, it was a solid story to give to the office because they would know that of all the people there, he was probably the only one that felt confident enough to take her away by himself. Plus, the last time he got mad and rained down on somebody, a block and a half of Stark Street was leveled to ashes and four gangbangers were dead with three others permanently missing. The core team had agreed at that point that keeping Hector from doing that again was important on so many levels. Using those exact words would have resonated with Tank and put him on notice.

"You've been here nearly two weeks," I pointed out.

She nodded that I was right. "Yesterday, he drove somewhere a few hours away and called Tank again. Tank said they'd been trying everything but Malone was proving difficult to track down. On top of that, they knew Malone had brought in some outside contractors to apply various levels of pressure on me, so the guys were worried that even if they brought Malone back into the system, the people he'd hired to hurt me would still be trying to earn their paychecks. They have Vince trying to figure out how widespread the danger is, but they don't have enough specifics. According to Hector, Tank all but threatened him if he tried to bring me back now. I guess they left it that we would call back in another week, and until then, the less people that knew where I was, the better."

Everything she'd shared made perfect sense. It pissed me off that all the resources at RangeMan couldn't find a small town, low-level mob boss. He had enemies. Why we couldn't use those people against Malone was beyond me. Everybody at RangeMan was brought on for a specific purpose – because they had a skill set or an ability that was superior to everyone else's so that when occasions came and we were focusing on a single situation, I would have the right people in place to get the job done quickly. The problem was, the best tracker on the payroll was me, and I wasn't in any condition to lead a manhunt at the moment. I could find somebody hiding in the woods or in a city. I could find people who attempted to run and those trying to hide in plain sight. I would then give the rest of the team the location, and they would follow me to apprehend the target.

Before I could mourn the fact that not only was I not there to lead the charge, but even if I were there, I wasn't capable of leading anybody, Steph spoke up once more. "Why is Vince the once involved with this?"

Disclosing someone's past wasn't something I made a habit of doing, but because we were basically putting the responsibility of securing her safety on Vince's shoulders, I felt like she deserved an explanation.

"Vince's last name is Portici," I began, looking down to see if she recognized the name. When I paused, she lifted her head and shifted so that her chin was resting on me and her deep blue eyes were watching mine. There was no understanding of what I'd told her, so I tried putting it in terms she could understand.

"If there was a real family that was used as a basis for the _Godfather_ movies, it was the Porticis. Vince's grandfather ruled the streets of New York with an iron fist, and his father stepped in and took the family business to even great heights, spreading the family's influence to Las Vegas, Miami, Boston, and even New Jersey. Vince is the youngest son of four, so there weren't really any positions for him to head up anything worthy of a Portici heir, and he'd never shown any desire to join in the real work of the family business, much to his father's disappointment. When Vince announced he wanted to go into the Army, I think the family considered that a good place to keep him out of the politics at home and doing something worthy with his life."

"But he's diabetic," she interrupted. "How could he pass the physical?"

"Babe, we're way past the day when flat feet could keep you out," I told her, wondering why people thought only perfect-bodied individuals were all that were allowed to serve. "He has it under control, so it's not a problem. It's something he's been dealing with most of his life, so it's second nature to him now."

"He said he could feel it when he was off," she replied, as though what she had seen fit perfectly into what I was telling her.

To keep us on track, I jumped back in. "When he got out of the military, he knew he didn't want to go back home and join that life, but his family wanted him somewhere they could keep an informal eye on him. Trenton is perfect because he's not in one of their hub cities, but he's close enough that they can get to him fast if there's a need. And even if Vince didn't want to be a part of the official family business, a family like his never turns their back on one of their own, so keeping him happy and safe was really important."

"So is he calling his family for help?" she wondered, obviously trying to see how his past fit into her present.

"No, he's going to the other mob families and introducing himself fully, letting them know that you are very important to him and that he would consider it the same thing as losing a member of his family if anything happened to you."

Truthfully, he'd done that only once before when Abruzzi had gotten so fixated on Stephanie. It took three visits before somebody ratted out Abruzzi, and then I was able to convince him he would be happier if he was no longer breathing. At least, that's what the note he'd signed had said.

Vince had called his dad and told him that a woman who was very special to him was being threatened by a family, and he'd asked for permission to throw around his true identity on the streets to protect her. His father had been thrilled to finally have Vince wanting to acknowledge his connection, and he'd had three vans full of muscle at the door of RangeMan within two hours. They'd spread out, looking like a stereotypical version of a movie Italian family, and had made as much noise around town as possible, saying that someone had threatened the happiness of the youngest Portici son, and his father had sent them down to be sure that didn't happen again.

Once we'd taken care of Abruzzi, they'd gone back home, and Vince had attempted to go back to anonymity on the streets. Except for a few of the local families, he'd succeeded. He'd learned to use those friendly connections when he needed information, but otherwise, he ignored the mob because he didn't want to get sucked into that life. When Stephanie first mentioned needing to bring in a mob player, I knew Vince could help her, but I hadn't explained it to her so that she could understand, and now she was in danger if she went back to Trenton.

"I should have told you all of this earlier," I admitted, wondering why I hadn't. She'd asked why Vince was the person I'd suggested she go to, so I'd had the perfect opening. I'd lived a life where I protected every piece of information – some out of obligation, others out of habit instead of necessity. I knew that wasn't going to change overnight, but if Stephanie and I were ever going to have something in the real world, then I was going to have to learn how to open up and share stuff with her. It went against all my habits, so I didn't fool myself that it would come naturally, but I knew like everything else, the work to make it happen was more than worth it in light of the end result being a safe and happy woman beside me.

_**Stephanie's POV**_

My head was spinning. Vince was the son of a huge mob boss. I'd learned more about him in the last two weeks than I had in the year before that. He'd been my shadow more than once, and we'd even pulled a couple of monitor and surveillance shifts together. I knew from those that he was really good at figuring out movie quotes, he hated classical music, and he had a thing for cheese balls that no one but me seemed to know about.

I remembered him pulling a bag out from under his seat once and glancing around the windows before he opened it and started eating. When I'd asked what the stalker check was about, he'd grinned and explained he wasn't allowed to have junk food as a kid so he'd learned to always check his back before bringing it out. And since RangeMan had the same policy, the habit had just carried over. Learning that he was diagnosed with diabetes when he was still a kid, I could see why his eating habits would be closely monitored.

Of course, learning the reason behind his hidden junk food paranoia and learning that he'd grown up in a family that took loyalty and honor to a degree beyond my comprehension only supported the behavior I'd come to expect from him. I guess in light of all that, I knew everything about him that I needed to know. Getting his history just explained what I'd suspected, but it didn't change who he was in my eyes.

"Thanks for sharing that about Vince," I finally replied.

"You deserved to know," Ranger assured me. "Vince is pretty tight-lipped about his family. To say it's complicated is probably an understatement."

I decided to cut off what he was probably about to say. "Don't worry... I won't say a word. I might talk a lot, but you can trust me to keep the things that are personal to myself and not run around blabbing people's secrets."

"I trust you," he said in a steady voice, as though he wanted me to hear the truth of what he was saying and grasp the fact that in his eyes, trust was the highest value he could place in another person.

"I won't let you down," I promised, hoping as the words left my mouth that it was true.

There were a good many things he needed from me – dodging the guys' questions about his health, assistance in walking without showing the potential for weakness while he recovered, even the right kind of massage that would hurt him in order to eventually help him heal.

Over the last day, I'd been worrying over how I would meet the things he needed from me without letting him down. But suddenly, I wasn't so sure that was going to be a problem. Despite horrendous odds against him, he managed to come through every time I needed him, and my trust in him to deliver just grew exponentially with each encounter.

When I told him I knew how to talk without disclosing secrets, it wasn't an overstatement. I had protected him before, and even though I thought the guys deserved to know, I knew I could keep his secrets safe. I was also feeling more confident in my ability to cover for him to keep people from noticing any change in how he moved. As long as he was okay with everyone knowing about whatever this was between us, then I was pretty sure I'd be able to pick up on the cues of when he needed a helping hand and make it seem natural. Our time in the gym proved we worked smoothly enough to keep the focus off our legs.

That just left the final piece of whether or not I could work his body hard enough at night to keep his muscles loose. The idea of hurting him made me cringe, but the idea of holding him back was out of the question. When I first tried to fly, it hurt like hell to break an arm. Even now, though, I looked back on it and considered the pain totally worth it for that brief feeling of being free. I might have to shut my eyes so that I don't see his face, but knowing that the harder I pushed at the knots in his body, the quicker he could fly was all I needed to know I had this.

Ranger could definitely trust me. There was no way I'd let him fall.


	15. The Edge

_JE created the characters below, and I deserve no credit for that bit of genius._

_Jenny (JenRar) you are an amazing beta. I'm not sure what I did to deserve the honor of working with you, but I do consider myself quite fortunate._

**Chapter 15 – The Edge**

_**Stephanie's POV**_

"You're going to love me today," Maxwell threatened with a smile.

For three days, Ranger had been making steady progress. He still complained – loudly –about having to ride in a wheelchair around the hospital, but other than making him sound like a complaining child, it did no good. Maxwell had continued to up the degree of difficulty in his workouts, and we'd been making laps at the hotel to stretch out the amount of time he'd been walking.

After the first night, I'd decided that I was going to give him what he needed, so I'd straddled his backside and begun to run through all the message paces just like Greg had shown me. When I'd asked Ranger if he thought I was getting it all right, he'd grunted. The second time I'd asked, he'd told me to stop working on him if I really wanted an answer because concentrating on not making a sound each time my fingers or elbow dug into a sore spot was all he could handle at the moment. A small voice in the back of my head had felt guilty for causing him pain, but the louder, more focused portion had been waving her hands in the air in celebration. If he'd been feeling the pain of me working his muscles, then I'd been doing it right.

While I was lost in my own thoughts congratulating myself in making Ranger hurt, Maxwell was telling him that I was going to have give up the treadmill today because he was going to spend some time on it himself. I could tell that Ranger wasn't thrilled to be told he was only walking and not moving any faster yet, but I still felt like it was progress.

His hands gripped the bars on either side of the belt for stability, but when the machine came on, Ranger had no trouble dropping down and moving smoothly. I couldn't believe how easy he made his recovery look. After being released from the hospital, he'd seemed to thrive on the fresh air and time spent outside. The hotel Hector had booked for us had an open courtyard, surrounded on all four sides by walls. We spent a lot of his afternoon walk time making laps there, on the level path that worked through their small garden.

As he walked, we talked. Strangely, this man who I used to consider rather tight-lipped seemed to open up and answer nearly every question I asked him about his family, his political beliefs, even his own past. A few times, he would narrow his eyes, as though debating how much to say, but he never refused to answer me, and he didn't once try to turn the tables on me so that I wouldn't realize he was begging off the full disclosure.

Of course, anytime he answered a question, he seemed to think that meant I had to give him the same kind of confession, so I was careful not to ask anything about his past sexcapades out of fear that I'd have to open up about that, too. In a matter of days, I'd learned more about him than the past three years had taught me in Trenton.

I realized when he started walking evenly on the treadmill, accepting yet another challenge without complaint, that I was in deep trouble here. I loved this man – without reservation. A few days ago, I'd been worried about how I would respond if he announced he was never returning to Trenton, and now I knew I'd stay with him no matter where he wanted to live. I missed my family, and I desperately missed the guys, but I needed to be with Ranger. If he tried to push me away now, I knew I'd be damaged goods, unable to move on easily with my life. He held my heart, and it would be impossible to ever give it to another.

Just as that thought passed through my mind, Ranger turned his face in my direction and winked at me. Flirty Ranger was a wonderful thing to see. My heart rate went up; I sighed and felt my knees tighten in an attempt to be sure my legs stayed together. All of that just from a fast movement of his eyelid. As always, when I needed something – a car, rescuing from a psycho, or a little reassurance – he seemed to know it and give me exactly what I needed at the moment. There was no way to explain our connection, but this whole test with Ranger's injuries had taught me that it was much stronger than I'd imagined was possible. I couldn't predict the future with certainly, but my gut told me that Ranger had no intention of ever sending me away, and since it hadn't steered me wrong lately, I wasn't going to worry myself questioning something I truly didn't think was going to happen.

"I'm not calling him a medical miracle, because I've seen him put the work in, but what he's accomplished over the past few weeks is amazing," Maxwell said, moving up beside me so quietly that I wasn't aware he was there until he sat down and started talking.

"He's like that," I replied, not sure how else to describe it. The man excelled in getting things done, no matter the odds against him.

"It's only fair to give him the credit, but in truth, you deserve a lot of it, too," he attempted to argue with me.

"No," I refuted immediately. "All I've done is sit around and watch him sweat." It was a hard job, but I figured somebody had to do it.

Maxwell seemed to find my description funny, but once he stopped laughing, he said, "Men like Ranger are all about motivation. He answers to no one, so usually, he allows others to have the perception of ordering him around because the money they pay him makes it more than worth it. In this, pulling himself up to reclaim his life wasn't enough of a motivation because he couldn't see the end payoff as definite enough to warrant the pain for a maybe at best. But the moment you walked in, he had all the incentive he needed to kick ass."

"I didn't make him do this," I reminded the therapist.

"Not literally," he conceded. "But the idea of failing in front of you was something his mind and body couldn't accept, so even when I know he wanted to tell me to take that walker and shove it up my ass, he held back and gritted through it in order to keep from quitting in front of you."

"You make it sound like if I left, he'd stop," I pointed out, unsure of where this conversation was heading.

"If you left him, he'd stop, all right." Maxwell grew unusually serious. "He'd quit working on his progress and probably quit altogether."

"No pressure, huh?" I attempted to joke, uncomfortable with the somber turn of the conversation.

"If I hadn't watched the two of you together, I wouldn't have said anything. But I'm pretty sure I'm right that you don't see staying by his side as pressure, so I don't think I'm forcing you to do things you don't want to do," he explained his take on us.

There was a pause while I considered his words. "No, I'm with him because it's exactly where I want to be. No guilt, pressure, burden, or expectation is keeping me there." I'd experienced that with relationships in the past and stuck it out because the 'Burg or my mother thought I should. There was nothing in me that was by Ranger's side out of guilt. This was the only place I wanted to be, and the idea of leaving him was contrary to everything that felt natural in me.

When I turned to look at Maxwell, he was grinning at me. "What's got you all beamy?" I asked him.

"Beamy?" He looked confused by the word but smiling just the same. "It's not often you get to see the real thing in flesh and blood. Normally, the only chance a person has to experience this kind of love is reading a ridiculous romance novel."

"You read romance novels?" I couldn't stop myself from asking.

"Something has to help pass the time," he replied, his tone so light, I couldn't tell if he was serious or not.

"Does Hector know about your literary interests?" I wished I understood what was going on between those two.

"Hector knows about a good many of my interests," he replied, giving me an eyebrow wiggle that would have made Lester proud.

"Any chance you'll elaborate on that?" I asked, wondering if I was about to get my wish about the two people we'd shared this journey with.

"Some secrets are his to tell," he disappointed me by saying. "But I will tell you that there have been times I've made up reasons to keep Ranger in my patient listing just so I'd have the excuse to watch your bodyguard."

I followed Maxwell's eyes and saw that Hector had entered the gym at some point while we'd been talking. He was staring at the therapist sitting beside me and wasn't attempting to hide the expression on his face that was all intensity but without the usual aggression he seemed to show naturally. This was more of a longing and a clear-cut statement that there was a limited time period that he was going to wait, and then he was going to have the man in blue scrubs to my right.

"It looks like he's okay with the idea of you watching, but I think he'd rather you be a little more active than that," I suggested, enjoying the chance to put some pressure in his direction.

Maxwell made a noise that sounded much like I did when there was pineapple upside-down cake in front of me, but for some reason, I wasn't allowed to have any. You might know you were eventually going to get what you wanted, but knowing that you couldn't have it now was too much to ignore.

"Do I need to create a diversion so you two can have a few minutes alone in your office?" I teased.

"No, what he has in mind will take more than a few minutes, so I think it's probably better for everyone if we keep our distance to make it easier," he said, trying to rationalize waiting.

These silly people who thought delayed gratification was a good thing had a lot to learn about the value of a good quickie.

Speaking of quickies, my body chose that moment to glance in Ranger's direction. I could see that he was moving a little quicker on the treadmill, and the incline had increased, providing his body with a light layer of sweat that made his skin shine. Except for a moment in Ranger's hospital bed, we hadn't made any attempts at sex, and my body was starting to make it clear we either needed to find a doughnut shop that was open twenty-four hours, or I needed to find a way to broach the subject of why we hadn't picked up where we'd left off that day. Ranger had always been a physical man, and he was the only person I knew that had a drive greater than mine, so I was worried that we'd been spending the night in the same bed, and the spooning between us had been the only action we'd shared.

"Is there a reason Ranger can't have sex?" I asked and then immediately realized it was with my out-loud voice. It didn't appear that Ranger had heard me, but Maxwell sure as hell had.

"There's not a medical reason," he answered, as though he got that question all the time. "Is he refusing to?"

"No," I replied, recognizing the defensiveness in my own voice. "Or to be more accurate, we're not talking about it, so there's nothing to refuse."

"Do you two usually schedule sex?" It was apparently now his turn to push for more information than I wanted to give.

I blushed but then confided, "No, he's definitely a spontaneous combustion kind of man."

"Then put him in a situation to combust," Maxwell advised.

"What do you mean?" I barely knew this man, but the amount of time we'd spent together coupled with the fact that Hector obviously trusted him had my usual defenses way down.

"I think you know exactly what I mean," he replied coyly. "Set the stage; make yourself irresistible and completely available so that he has no choice but to see what's right in front of him. Then, hang on for the ride. Because a guy like this – so physical and action-oriented – is going to lose his mind when he finally lets go of the careful control he's hanging onto."

"What makes you think he'll let go of his control?" I asked quietly. "Ranger is kind of legendary for not losing it."

He seemed to understand what I meant. "Yeah, but I'm pretty legendary for knowing how to push people so that they're on the edge. Then when you get him back to the hotel, if you turn it on, he'll fall exactly where you want him."

My mind couldn't understand what he was talking about, and my doubt or confusion must have been apparent because he continued to explain, "Today, we're focusing on the aerobic exercise he's been missing lately, which is going to release adrenaline. Next, I'm going to move him through some upper body exercises that are going to funnel his energy into aggression, but I'm not going to give him enough time to work off the adrenaline that's beginning to pump through him, so he's going to leave here edgy. Your job is to help him find a way to take the edge off."

"Is that what we're calling sex now?" I blurted out.

After he stopped laughing, he said, "The books I read all have different names for it, but I think taking the edge off will be most appropriate for the state he'll be in soon."

With that, he gave me a wink and walked over to shut down the treadmill Ranger had been working on for over forty minutes. I guess time really did fly when you were fantasizing about having fun.

After getting him off the treadmill, they moved to the body bag, where Maxwell strapped on some padded gloves and instructed Ranger to begin beating the crap out of the leather in front of him. Every time Ranger started to get a bit of a rhythm going, Maxwell would stop him and reposition his legs. I could see that they were working on getting more from his upper body in lieu of the diminished abilities of his lower body, but the start-stop cycle was making Ranger frustrated, and I began to see exactly what the physical therapist was doing to the man I loved. On the one hand, I hated to see it because I felt like he was torturing Ranger on purpose, which usually pissed me off. Of course, my anger was missing because I happened to know the end for these means, and if it worked as Maxwell seemed so confident it would, then I was a big fan.

They moved through the gym, each time doing something Ranger historically would have worked steadily at for a period of time, but Maxwell continued to interrupt and make small adjustments under the guise of improving his performance. By the time he announced that we were done for the day, Ranger was sporting a blank face, and I started to think Maxwell had set me up for another night of wondering how to get the damn shower head off the wall without the need for a plumber.

Ranger went straight to the aforementioned shower when we got back to the hotel. Hector stood there with me in the main room of the suite after Ranger stormed off through our bedroom to the bathroom.

"Boss okay?"

I shrugged. "I think he's frustrated after his workout today."

"He looked good. No reason to be frustrated," Hector replied, obviously not privy to his friend's evil plan.

My eyes were glued to the door of the bedroom I shared with Ranger, and even when I heard the water turn on, I wasn't able to tear them away. Hector stood silently for a few long minutes and then said. "I am going to tape the door."

That random statement pulled me from my brief stupor. "What?"

"Sensor tape," Hector added, not giving me any more clarity despite the additional words. "It will alert me if the door of the suite is tampered with so I can hang out in my room." He nodded to the room on the opposite side of the suite from mine. "With the doors closed, sound doesn't travel, and with the television on, I wouldn't hear a thing anyway."

I raised an eyebrow – or tried to. He must have realized I wasn't going to reply to his suggestive comment because he chuckled.

Hector kissed me at the top of my cheek and then grinned. "Go to the boss. I've got your back, but I won't be in your business. He needs this, and from the look of you, I think you do, too."

My face instantly turned red, as though someone had flipped a switch. "How do you know?"

That question made my shadow laugh. "Anyone who sees you two knows what's between you. But because I've been staying out here"—he pointed to the couch in front of the main door into our suite—"I know that you aren't doing anything about it." After pausing, he added, "Boss won't break. Go show him that you won't, either."

I wished I had the same sense of confidence about this that Hector and Maxwell did. But there was a piece of me that knew the sex between Ranger and me had always been phenomenal, and I wondered if Ranger was afraid of doing anything out of fear it wouldn't live up to what we'd had in the past. I could understand that, but I hated the idea of living in fear and refused to deny myself a mind-blowing experience because of it. Maxwell was confident that he'd have Ranger's body in such a state that he wouldn't be able to hang on to the control that had been keeping us apart. With that thought, I didn't bother to say another word to Hector. I quickly moved to do my part to finally getting what I thought we both needed.

Maxwell had told me to take charge and make myself irresistible. I wasn't entirely sure I could do that, but I wasn't going to give up without at least trying. Hopefully, this wouldn't come back to bite me in the ass. Although, the state I was in might really enjoy a little nibble back there.

_**Ranger's POV**_

I knew the paces Maxwell had put me through today were for a purpose, and it felt damn good to finally be doing shit I was familiar with instead of having to continue learning to walk all over again, but it was frustrating as hell to begin gaining momentum just to have him tell me to stop. I felt like a kid jazzed on too much caffeine, with no way to get it out of my system. Usually a good workout like that would burn off the adrenaline coursing through me, but having to be coached through how to move prevented me from getting far enough into any activity to get what I always thought was the primary benefit.

At this pace, I was going to lose my mind. It had been hard enough sleeping with Stephanie the last few nights. She came to bed in practically nothing and then plastered her body as close to mine as was physically possible. I didn't actually mind that part – in fact, the one time she was slow to move over, I found myself reaching out to pull her to me. But once we were touching from head to toe, my body began to take notice of her, and I seemed to spend the night fighting what I desperately wanted to do.

There wasn't a good explanation for why I hadn't taken Stephanie the second we came in the hotel three days ago. After nearly getting ourselves to the point of no return in the hospital, I'd started to worry about what would happen when we actually crossed that threshold the next time.

Stephanie had a frame of reference for me in bed. I'd never minded competing against her memories of Morelli because I was confident in my ability to easily surpass her experiences there. But competing against myself was something new, and for the first time in my life, I wondered if I could measure up. I didn't approach sex in a halfhearted way. I was a physical man, and there were few activities that were better suited to my needs than sex. It was an act all about using your body to draw out the maximum response from the body of the person you were with. It was about control and release, two things I excelled in historically.

But since this injury had made me have to relearn how to do things I'd always taken for granted in the past, I wasn't sure my body would respond the same as it had before. What would that mean for my own experience, and more importantly, for my ability to guarantee Stephanie enjoyed it? I hated the idea of being paralyzed because of fear, but as the water ran down my back, I knew that's exactly what this was. I was afraid I couldn't meet my past performance and that Stephanie would recognize it and be disappointed.

When I opened my eyes and saw my dick standing straight out from my body, completely hard and darkened, I got pissed. I wasn't an animal; that wasn't the head I had to do my thinking with. Almost as if making a point, it throbbed and moved on its own. Then I realized there might be a bigger worry here than not being able to perform up to my previous standard. I hadn't had sex in more months than I could count. And for me, that could be a problem.

I was raw because of the workout that only served to juice me up, and putting that on top of my suddenly-screaming sex drive, I knew I could snap if Steph made any little move at all in my direction. For her sake, I needed to get a grip on this so I didn't break and basically attack her. I was pretty sure I'd never hurt her, but my usual restraint wasn't always there for me when it came to Stephanie, and at the moment, I was about as far as I could get from my usual restraint.

With that thought, I moved the shower control over to remove the heat from the water and try icing the swelling between my legs. Almost as if making a point, it barely registered the change in temperature.

Before I could take matters into my own hand, literally, I felt the steam diminish much quicker than my recent change in the water should have allowed. Someone had opened the bathroom door. My first reaction was to look around and remind myself that I had no weapon. Before I could move to get out and see what threat had gotten past Hector, the door to the shower opened, and Stephanie walked in, completely naked.

Her face had a slight pink tint to it, but other than that, she showed no sign of being uncomfortable or embarrassed about her nudity. Of course, with a body that perfect, there would be no reason to be ashamed. Whatever blood flow I'd managed to redirect with the cold water, she had completely reversed just from stepping into my shower. There was no way to convince her few things were as sexy as a woman confident enough with her body to offer it up like this with no attempt at covering up or hiding.

"Sorry to interrupt, but I figured with the extra workout you got in today, you might want somebody to wash your back."

It was a weak excuse at best. And normally, I wouldn't have cared what she said; just having her come to me for sex would have been enough to make me grab her and take what she was obviously offering.

Fortunately, I wasn't a man who could be so easily swayed, so I shook my head, determined to not make her feel rejected, but knowing that it was a bad idea to let this go any further at this exact moment. Maybe after I got a little pressure off and found a way to work off the jazzed feeling I'd left the gym with, we could try it, but not right now.

I turned around, presenting my back to her to show I'd heard what she said and to keep her eyes from dipping down to the part of my body that seemed to be acting like some kind of specialized heat-seeking missile in search of the kind of warmth only she could provide.

Playing along with her premise for coming in, she took the soap in the dish to my left and began lathering up her hands. Of course she wouldn't use a wash cloth or something else to mute the sensation of her touching me. No, she had to choose this exact moment to put her fingers directly on my skin.

I tried thinking of old missions, of kills that had been credited to me, anything to keep my body from responding to her. But the moment her hands flattened on my back and began to move, any thoughts in my brain disappeared so there was nothing in the world but her touch on my body.

All I could do was pray that she wouldn't push this any further because I was positive I wouldn't be able to stop where this would end up, and now my fears of not measuring up were forgotten as they were replaced with the worry that I might come at her with enough force that I'd end up scaring or, even worse, hurting her. What kind of animal couldn't guarantee the safety of his woman when he made love to her? I didn't want the answer to that question, but when she slid her hands down my back and circled my waist, I knew we were both about to find out.


	16. Falling Over the Edge

_All the usual applies – JE gets the credit and money – I get the fun._

_Jenny (JenRar) thank you for being a great beta, a super reader, and someone who understands what I'm trying to do with these characters. Writing is so much fun with you._

**Chapter 16 – Falling Over the Edge**

_**Ranger's POV**_

I knew of some dictators who had spent inordinate amounts of money to develop new techniques for torturing people to get information from them when they broke. I'd always thought that was wasted money. And the second Stephanie's hands moved around my waist and began running up and down my abdomen, I had all the proof I'd need to validate my claim. I would have given her any secret, answered any question, agreed to any plan – no matter how ridiculous – just to keep her hands on me. My mind was focused solely on whatever patch of skin her hands were touching at the moment, and I had forgotten every argument I'd just made in my head for why we shouldn't have sex.

Right now, every nerve ending in my body was screaming for me to take her. My dick was pulsing, and I knew if she lowered her hands enough to touch me there, I'd have her pressed against the wall and taking her before she even realized what was happening. I had to find a way to slow this down.

Despite my worries about her impressions of my body's ability to please her, I was willing to chance the blow to my ego if I fell short. What I couldn't take was the idea of hurting her. But damn, if she didn't slow down, I wasn't going to be able to hold back. Between the time in the gym and the long time since I'd had a release, I could feel something deep inside me churning to get out.

A lot of soldiers talk about an animal that they let lose when they charge into battle. I knew exactly what they were talking about because I knew I could become a predator without equal when it was called for. Unfortunately, that shift in my mind and body felt like it was coming on, and there wasn't an enemy around for me to focus on. It was just me and Steph – and she was standing naked and wet behind me.

"Babe," I growled, trying to get her attention, hopeful I could find a way to get her to stop pushing for this while I was this much on edge.

She made a noise that proved she'd heard me, but her hands continued to slide over my chest.

"We need to hold off for just a little bit." I was impressed with the sentence, but my voice sounded so guttural, that I hardly recognized it.

"Don't want to," she disagreed, not making this any easier on me.

I put my hands on the wall of the shower in an attempt to hold onto something instead of spinning around and grabbing her. "I'm…on edge." The words weren't coming easily because she was dragging her fingertips slowly over my pectorals, and her nails were scratching over my nipples and short-circuiting my brain. "I need a little control for us to do this."

"No," she disagreed strongly. "I don't want you to hold back."

"You'll get hurt if I come after you right now," I argued, my fists balling up and pushing my knuckles into the tile.

"I've heard a little pain can be a huge turn-on," she argued, running her nails back down my chest again, as though she knew exactly what it was doing to me.

My head fell forward so that it was hanging from my neck. "It can be," I agreed, knowing that was definitely true for me. "But there's a difference between a little pain and a damn attack. I'm not sure I can walk the line right now."

"Do you trust me?" she switched topics to ask.

"Yes," I answered her, not even having to consider the answer. My whole being knew that of all the people in the world, this woman deserved my whole, unfiltered trust.

"Then trust me to stop you if you do something I can't handle," she argued, pressing her breasts tighter against my back. "I'll make you stop if you try to cross a line I don't want crossed. But you have to give me this Ranger. I need you, and I can't wait."

All I needed was a rock nearby to pair up with the hard place between my legs for the saying to be actualized. I wanted to give her everything she needed, and for once, she had come to me with a need that only I could meet for her. How could I say no to her when she put it like that, with every instinct I had screaming to provide for this woman?

On the other hand, she was also saying that if it turned into a wild experience she couldn't handle, she would stop me. How in the hell she thought she was going to do that was beyond me. Even in my condition, I still had the knowledge of how to subdue an opponent, especially someone nearly half my bodyweight and nowhere near my skill level.

I could almost see a neon sign flashing the warning _you'll regret this when it's over_. Then her hands finally moved below my waistline, and I realized now wasn't the time for reading signs. It was about living. And right now, nothing would show that more than taking Steph to the bedroom and giving her all the pleasure I could before falling off the cliff with her.

My right hand moved to shut off the shower. Once the water stopped pouring over us, she tensed but didn't back away.

"I'm going to count to fifty," I told her, with no real reasoning behind that particular number. "Get out, and dry off, and if you're still sure this is what you want, then go to the bed. If you realize how dangerous this is, then get out of here completely, and I'll find you once I calm down. But if you're in that bed when I step out of the bathroom, I am going to take you. I won't have any finesse or tenderness the first time, but I'll spend the rest of the afternoon making it up to you."

She nodded and wisely didn't say a thing to me. The countdown began in my head, making me feel slightly like a kid about to engage in a game of hide and seek – except I knew this wasn't a game. This was either about to be the most intense experience of my life, or I was about to hurt the woman I loved more than anything in this world. I was obviously a majorly fucked-up individual if I went through with this, but she'd pushed me too far, and my body couldn't pull back now. The only thing that would prevent this crash from happening would be her walking out so that she wasn't there when I dried off.

Realizing I'd only made it to thirty before my mind started to wonder, I lost track of the count. I was too impatient to start over, so I pushed away from the tile and moved to grab a towel from the rack, drying myself as well as I could while not thinking about what I was doing.

I needed Stephanie – that had always been true, but in this moment, it was especially so. At some point in my life, I'd tried just about everything there was to try, but I'd never felt a craving like what was eating away at me right now. I had to see her. My mind was consumed by her, I could still smell her from the time she'd been pressed against me in the shower, but my eyes were restlessly scanning the slightly-hazy bathroom, searching for her face. Impatient with the menial chore of drying off, I dropped the towel, not caring that I never allowed myself to do that, and took some shaky steps toward the bedroom.

My eyes fell on the bed, but she wasn't there. My hand, which had been balled up in a fist, tightened until I heard my knuckles cracking. Then the light in the room shifted, and I realized she was standing completely naked in front of the window and attempting to close the curtains. Why she wanted the room dark was beyond me, and at the moment, I couldn't make myself care.

"You were supposed to be on the bed," I reminded her, "Unless you were trying to say no."

Her eyes locked to mine, and I watched her draw in a shaky breath. Then, without breaking our eye contact, she abandoned her attempt to cover the window and moved directly to the bed before pulling the bedspread back and sitting on the edge.

Once she stilled, I swallowed and forced my hands to open so that I wasn't hunting her with two fists. My mind wasn't thinking of hurting her, so I wanted to try to take away any appearance of violence. I was going to take her, and despite the fact that she didn't deserve this, I knew I was going to be brutal with her. It couldn't be helped. She'd pushed me in this direction, and unless she stopped it, there was no way for me to pull back. The rational side of my brain had packed up and disappeared behind the animal that was in control.

"Lie back," a gravely version of my voice commanded. "This is it, Babe. Your last chance to back out. I can stop now, but if you let this go any further, it will be so much harder to pull back."

She shook her head no, that she wasn't interested in stopping, and then she licked her lips, keeping her bottom lip between her teeth as the final straw to break the dam that had been holding me back.

I leaned forward and gripped both her legs, running my hands under her thighs and yanking her down the bed so that her ass was right on the edge of the mattress. I looked down at the sight in front of me and lost sight of anything else but those few inches between her thighs. Thank goodness for the progress I'd made in the gym so that I knew I had the strength to support myself for what I was about to do. Dropping her left leg, I stroked myself just enough to spread the slick lubrication beginning to pearl on me so that I could enter her all at once.

When I reached back down and picked up the leg I'd released, I jerked her hips up to match my height and then lined myself up with her opening. I sucked in a deep breath, trying to find a way to pull back a little.

Then her voice hit me, strong and steady, with two words: "Do it." There was no doubt, no fear...only the sound of a woman who knew exactly what she wanted.

My body gladly obliged, and I rammed into her, despite the fact that I hadn't prepared her at all. A small voice screamed out that I was a monster to not put her pleasure ahead of my own, but when her walls clamped down on me and then contracted, I knew the scream she'd uttered hadn't been because of the pain of my entry, but she was coming around me just from me plunging deep into her. I held off until I felt her body relax slightly, and then I pulled back until just the tip of my cock was still in her. With another smooth stroke, I thrust back in, even deeper than before.

Good God, this was fucking heaven. She was consuming me despite the fact that I'd barely moved inside her. We'd had sex before, so the feel of her against me wasn't new, but this was unlike anything I'd ever felt. My hips pistoned again and again, forcing me into her, taking us both higher than I thought possible. When she yelled out my name, my balls tightened up, and I came inside her with enough force I thought it might hurt us both.

Everything was blank. I couldn't make myself let go of her legs, nor could I stop the small, short thrusts that seemed to keep my orgasm spilling from me. I didn't know it was possible to come this hard and long, but I doubted any sexual experience I'd ever have in the future would compete with this single joining. After an eternity that may have been only a moment passed, the majority of the intensity faded, and I began to feel more in control.

She moved her legs, trying to pull them from my hands, so I let her go, not even a gentleman enough to lower them to the bed. I slid from her and hissed at the abrupt ending to how I'd felt only seconds before. This didn't seem to bother Steph at all, as she moved to kneel in front of me, framing my face with her hands in an attempt to get all my attention focused on her.

Once my eyes focused on her face, she gave me a ghost of a smile and said, "Now we're going to do it again because I'm nowhere near done with you."

With that, she stretched up and kissed me, holding back nothing. If my attack on her had frightened or concerned her in any way, it wasn't showing in the way she was coming straight at me now. My first reaction had been to slow her down, but she nipped my lip, just shy of a full-fledged bite, and I felt my body begin to respond all over from that tiny assault.

She pulled back and drew in a deep, audible breath before saying, "Lie down. It's my turn to drive."

I may not turn over my car keys very often, but I'd always said she could lead in the bedroom, so I all but collapsed on the bed and scooted to put my head on the pillow. Her eyes were practically navy, the pupils so large and dark, they were blending into her natural blue tone. Her cheeks were flushed, and her lips were full from the forceful kiss we'd just shared. If I'd thought she was sexy in the shower, I had no idea just how much better she could get if this was any indication of what was about to come. She had purpose written all over her face, and there was no holding her back from what she wanted. Fortunately, what she wanted was me.

She kissed her way down my chest, straddling my legs as she moved to my hips with her silky lips. Then she surprised me by pulling my length inside her mouth. Any rebounding time my body might have needed was quickly gone in that moment because I felt my body swell in the heat between her lips. She made a moaning sound that was somewhere between pleasure and enthralled satisfaction.

Then it hit me that I might not taste the same way I had the last time she'd tortured me in her mouth. I wasn't a man of words, and I didn't see the need to talk through sex when my actions could speak a lot louder than anything I might think to say, but I couldn't stop myself from testing her in the same way she'd tried to challenge me. "Do you taste that, Babe?"

Another low moan was my only response.

"That's you coating me," I told her, stopping when she increased the suction enough that my brain felt like it was being sucked from my head. When she relaxed her grip on me, I spoke up once more. "I'm going to have that taste in my mouth soon, Babe, because my mouth is going to eat you like a feast."

Abruptly, she stopped and moved to hover over me just long enough to line us up before shoving her body down and impaling herself on me. My eyes closed, and I briefly wondered if I'd blacked out.

I guessed that I managed to hold onto consciousness because I heard her say, "You talk too much. I can't hold back when you say things like that."

That was a first. I'd never been accused of being too much of a talker. But I understood her meaning. There were times when talking was the right move – like walking together to get my exercise in each afternoon. But there were also times when it was a distraction – like now, when it was easier to show her what I wanted to do instead of describing it to her.

Any notion that I might have held onto that said Stephanie needed to be handled tenderly, sweetly, and gently in order to meet the 'Burg standards was quickly yanked out of my head when she gripped my arms and demanded I give it to her harder. My body responded as though she were my commanding officer and hesitation was not acceptable. I grabbed her knee to hold her in place and rolled us over smoothly so that I could leverage my full weight against her and give it to her as hard and fast as she wanted. I couldn't believe how in tune we were, because just as her nails began to dig into my back, I felt my own release explode from me. Barely whispering her name, I rode out the waves of my pleasure, heightened by the sensation of her body milking mine.

I wasn't able to keep my weight off her once we stopped moving, so I rolled back over, pleased when she kept her legs hooked around me to keep us joined. She collapsed on top of me as though there were no bones in her body. Honestly, I don't remember ever thinking a dead weight felt so good.

"You okay there?" I teased, not really doing much better than she seemed to be.

"I'll tell you when I get my second wind," she slurred out as a response.

It felt good to laugh at her attempt to answer. Of course, the movement of my chest caused her to move just slightly, which made me super aware of her body's presence on top of mine.

Drawing in a deep breath, I attempted to get ahold of myself and let go of the final remnants of the adrenaline in my system, but Stephanie rolled her hips, which somehow managed to pull up renewed interest from my system, even though it shouldn't physically be possible.

"Are you trying to tell me something?" I teased, wondering if I'd ever felt this at ease with another person.

"It's been a long time, and Hector wouldn't let me eat any doughnuts," she confessed, sounding more alert but slightly embarrassed.

"So, you've got a hormone problem you need a little help with?" I pushed, wanting her to own her sexuality and all that it implied. She was a strong woman, with even stronger needs. There was nothing wrong with that, and quite frankly, the idea that I was the lucky bastard she was turning to in order to meet those needs was helping me to find a second wind, as well. "Remind me to give Hector a raise for keeping you off the doughnuts."

_**Stephanie's POV**_

While praising Hector for monitoring my diet these last couple of weeks wouldn't have been my initial response, I was glad to hear Ranger attempting to make a joke. When I was younger, my mom heard Mary Lou and me discussing guys and all the things we were curious about and wanted to try one day. Mom literally washed my mouth out. She told me that a woman should never instigate sex with a man – that it was her duty to accept what he gave and not to make demands based on what she thought she wanted. It wasn't her job to want; it was just her job to be available.

I'd tried it her way with Dickie, and obviously that hadn't worked out well for me. Even with Joe, I would let him know I was interested, but I'd rarely gone to him for anything other than run-of-the-mill sex. It had been fine, and he was attentive enough to be sure I was taken care of, but I'd known deep down that it could be better. I wasn't the little princess that needed to be treated gently all the time. There was a part of me that liked riding motorcycles fast, chasing criminals despite the danger, and even jumping off roofs. So it made sense that I would like my adventures in bed to be more than just the usual.

I wasn't sure what made me challenge Ranger like that this time. I had been too nervous the first time we were together, and during the unfortunate vordo week, I was too horny to be picky. Being anywhere near Ranger was always enough to set my hormones racing. But this time, he was mine, and I felt like I wanted to start what we had now the right way. I didn't want to hide from him or pretend that I was worried about him being too aggressive. In truth, the idea that he would push me more than I'd imagined was so exciting I thought I could feel myself coming alive to see what else we could try.

"Was I too rough?" he asked, as though only getting a partial read with his ESP.

"You were perfect," I promised him. After pausing for a minute, I realized he might have been surprised at how much more aggressive I'd been than our past experience together. "Was I too demanding?"

His chest shook, as though he was trying to keep from laughing, but a few chuckles snuck out anyway. "No, Babe, I don't think that's possible." Just about the time the blush began to recede from my face, he added, "In fact, I think it's the first time in my life that a woman has come at me with the same intensity I had, and it nearly made me lose my mind."

Now it was my turn to try to cover my chuckle. "My mother would be horrified," I explained my humor.

"Please don't talk to me about your family while we're in bed together," he pleaded, only making me smile bigger. "If my mind lands on your grandmother, then we may as well get dressed or go to sleep because playtime is over."

Obviously, he had a lot to learn about me. "That sounds a lot like a dare," I announced, pulling back to look at his face.

The corner of his mouth tipped up, and I had a feeling whatever happened next was going to be a lot of fun. The world spun around, and I found myself lying flat on my back with Ranger down farther between my legs. "I think I told you that I was going to have a turn down here, didn't I?"

My head nodded because my mouth wasn't capable of saying anything. Possibly because my body was screaming, _yes, please__, you can start now_, and my vocal chords couldn't compete with the noise in my head from all the cheering about what was coming.

An hour later, I didn't know my own name, and there was the sweetest sound of heavy breathing coming from behind me where Ranger was obviously already asleep. He moved, which got my curiosity up enough to turn around and look at him. His forehead was creased like he was worried about something, and his free hand was rubbing at the back of his hip.

It only took me a few seconds to put the clues together and realize he was in pain. I moved slowly in the hope that I wouldn't wake him, and when I was free, I smiled that he basically fell over face first without my body there to balance against. It only made it easier for me because I was able to get on top of him and lightly massaged his back and hips.

As soon as I started to dig into the muscle, he stirred and, in a groggy voice, asked, "What are you doing, Babe?"

I wasn't sure if I should laugh at how confused and sleepy he sounded or cry at how knotted his muscles were. He was hurting because of what we'd shared together. "I'm trying to get the tight spots out before they're so big, I can't help you."

The fact that he straightened out and didn't argue only proved I was right. I worked on him until my thumbs hurt and my arms ached. "I'm sorry, Ranger. I hadn't thought about what it would do to you."

"What are you apologizing for?" He no longer sounded like he was asleep, but he was obviously not thinking clearly if he didn't understand what I was talking about.

"Earlier…" I started, suddenly unsure if I could be as bold as I'd been earlier.

"I remember earlier," he replied with a voice deeper and sexier than I remembered him having. The muscles between my legs tightened in response.

"Well, then you remember that you were using muscles that hadn't been used in a while, so that must be why you're all tightened up. Maybe if we'd been slow and gentle with each other, it wouldn't have mattered, but I was yelling for you to come at me harder, and then I rolled you over and made you do it again and again…and again."

He was laughing. I was mortified, guilty, and worried that it would be months before we could do anything like that again, and he was lying there laughing. I stopped massaging his muscles, afraid that my hands might slip and smack him instead.

"Why are you laughing?"

"It's nearly seven o'clock." He pointed out what I could already see on the clock. As if he knew I didn't see the point, he explained. "I missed my walks this afternoon, and the cool-down massage you usually give me after dinner. On top of that, Maxwell had me using my hips and back in ways I haven't for a couple of months now. Us having incredible sex had nothing to do with how I feel now."

I didn't usually question him, and his restatement of the facts had made perfect sense, but I couldn't help but ask, "You're sure?"

"Positive." This time his voice was so confident, it was impossible to doubt. "In fact, I'm feeling better, so if you want me to prove it, I'm more than willing to show you."

Grinning, I figured I'd already questioned him enough, so debating with him would be wrong. If he wanted to prove it, who was I to stand in his way?


	17. Hard Truths

_JE created the characters below. Unfortunately I cannot claim any credit._

_Jenny (JenRar) you certainly came to my rescue turning this around so quickly. Thank you for the time you have put into this story as the beta._

**Chapter 17 – Hard Truths**

_**Stephanie's POV**_

"You're grimacing and dragging your left leg more than your right. What's going on?" Maxwell asked after watching Ranger speed walk on the treadmill. Yesterday, Ranger had been running on the machine and looking very much his old self. I'd worked his back, hips, and legs before we went to bed, and everything seemed fine. I'd been trying to build up my courage to bring up the idea of returning to Trenton, or at the very least, the United States somewhere, in case he'd looked that good again today.

Ranger hit the keypad on the treadmill and gracefully stepped down before toweling off his face and shaking his head. "I've got a pins and needles thing going on that makes it hard to feel my legs."

I couldn't believe it. After seeming like everything was going so well, now we were faced with a huge setback.

Despite my shock, Maxwell didn't seem the least bit surprised. "After the workout I gave you yesterday, I'm not surprised," he admitted.

"So you're saying if I do any running, I need to build in a day off to rest?" Ranger was struggling to hold his temper in check.

"No." Maxwell's tone was firm, but not at all aggressive in return. "I told you in the beginning, you will have to relearn what your legs are capable of, but I still think we can improve a little more upon what you've got. I expected you to be sore and a little numb."

The fingers of Ranger's right hand flexed into a fist and then relaxed several times while he worked to pull himself back from the anger he was feeling. "I don't have much in the way of sensation, but I'm able to feel discomfort. If I'm going to be numb, why aren't I missing all feelings instead of the pain making it through?"

It did sound unfair; I had to agree with him on that one.

"Not always," Maxwell patiently explained. "The nerve damage mutes a lot of sensation, but the stronger signals like pain still make it through loud and clear. You worked hard yesterday. Before this injury, you would have been sore from pushing yourself that much because the muscles and joints get inflamed. But with the damage from your injury, the swelling on top of the scar tissue pushes on the nerves and reduces the sensation, which makes you numb but still conveys the pain signals to the brain from the nerve compression."

"What the hell do I do about it?" Ranger blurted out. "I can't go out on the streets like this."

"I wouldn't suggest it," Maxwell agreed. "Not if you think there's a risk from someone willing to take advantage of your weakness."

At the use of that last word, Ranger's eyes narrowed.

"Is there a way he can use me for support to take the strain off his legs when they're numb?" I wanted to be helpful and get the discussion on anything other than the word weak.

"You can't be a crutch for me everywhere I go," Ranger pointed out, his temper starting to get loose.

"No, but having someone to lean on would keep your gait even so that no one would notice the shift in how you're walking," Maxwell offered.

"If I can't walk down the damn street on my own, then I'm not walking down the street at all," Ranger emphatically declared.

"Okay," I said, attempting to soothe him. "I was just trying to help."

"Well, stop it," he bit back at me. "I get that you're trying to help, but babying me isn't what I need. It's time for us to face the facts that I'm not going to be able to watch my own back anymore, which means going home may not be possible."

"You've never watched your own back," I argued. "Tank's always had that job."

"Looking for a possible sniper, and looking for any sign that I might trip over my god damned feet are two different jobs, and I'll be damned if I'll ask my men to take on the second one," he nearly yelled in return.

Something in the defeated way he was looking at his current situation was pissing me off. Maybe it was because I hated to think about the idea that he wouldn't be back to normal, or perhaps it was because I was feeling homesick lately and his attitude that returning home might never be possible made me miss the smog and noise of Trenton even more. Whatever the reason, I was building up a head of steam to match his.

"You arrogant man, you wouldn't have to ask them to do it; they'd volunteer for the job."

"These aren't Bomber shifts, Stephanie." He'd resorted to using my full name, which only pissed me off even more. "They knock each other over to watch out for you because they want to protect you. They won't follow a weak leader for very long."

I made a less-than-dignified noise as the prelude to my response. "I've already told you they'd follow you anywhere because of the respect they have for you, not because of your ability to hurt them in the sparring ring."

"You need to understand that those are my men – hand picked and hired by me. I know each and every one of them, so I'm confident I'm in a better position to guess at how their allegiance would fall." His jaw was rippling, as he was no doubt grinding his back teeth to keep from saying anything else. When I lifted my hand and pointed a finger in his direction, ready to drill into him once more, he held up a hand and spoke more calmly than I would have imagined possible. "I think you need to take a walk, out of the gym. I don't need you here for this, and on a day like this, I'd really prefer you weren't here at all. There are some things I don't want you to see."

His words hurt more than I could express, but I tried to tell myself they were borne of his own pain, not really intended to cause me agony. "You know this makes no difference in how I see you."

"You'll have to excuse me if I don't believe a word of that," he disagreed, making it abundantly clear he wasn't interested in hearing a rebuttal from me.

Since I'd arrived in Germany, we'd been nearly inseparable. I decided a little break wouldn't hurt anything, and quite frankly, after the way he'd dismissed me, I knew I needed some distance to keep from saying something I couldn't take back later. So with a restraint I rarely exhibited, I spun on my heels without so much as a goodbye and quickly walked out of the gym. Hector was at the door and opened it as I approached so that I didn't even have to slow down on my way out.

After the door closed behind us, I found a wall and leaned against the cool tiles, trying to build up some kind of emotional barricade to hide behind. When I opened my eyes, I saw Hector standing there, staring at me intently.

"_Chica,_ you okay?" he asked tenderly.

"No, I'm not," I replied honestly.

"It's okay," he assured me. Before I could disagree with him, he added, "I'll teach him a lesson for hurting you."

"No," I jumped in to defend Ranger – to offer some kind of excuse for his cruel words.

"Easy," Hector said, drawing me to his chest and attempting to soothe me. "I didn't mean I would hurt him, but if he don't watch his mouth, we might have to do that."

"What did you mean?" I asked, trying to make myself think about something else so that I could stay ahead of the tears that were threatening to appear.

"He wants you away, so you go away," Hector replied, as though his intent was obvious.

"But I don't want to leave him here," I argued.

Hector smiled at me and ran his thumb down my check letting me know I wasn't as successful at keeping my tears at bay as I'd hoped. "Come with me," he commanded, getting my legs to start walking without me issuing the conscious instruction to make them move.

We walked out to the street and made our way down the avenue we'd walked each day from the hotel to the hospital. When we walked into the richly-appointed lobby of our hotel, I felt Hector pull on my hand to make me follow him instead of going to the elevator to go up to our rooms. Curious, I decided to let him lead instead of questioning him about what he was doing.

We walked up to a friendly-looking lady, who spoke to us in German. I'd spent so much time in the hospital that my time around anyone who lived here was limited at best, and I'd nearly forgotten that English was not the native language of the people who surrounded me.

Hector spoke to her in English first, but she shook her head and said something else I couldn't understand. Then he switched to Spanish, which she quickly replied back to. Having found a common tongue, they spoke back and forth for a while before Hector finally turned to face me and said, "We go to the spa now."

"Wait..." I was completely confused. "The spa?" I wasn't sure if I was questioning why he wanted me to go there now of all times, or the fact that he'd used the pronoun we, meaning he was going with me. Somehow, I couldn't picture him getting a facial or a pedicure.

"_Si,_" he replied with a grin. "I watch over you while they take care of you," he explained, reminding me that he took his job as my shadow very seriously.

I was stretching out on the massage table after having my nails done, my face masked, and a wax, which included places I had assumed only Ranger would be allowed to see from now own. Something about Helga, the woman taking care of me, put me at ease. It may have been the language barrier; since I couldn't understand a word she said, I had no way to know if she was making fun of me. I did know that when she spoke, her voice was soft and kind, and while she painted my nails, she spoke nearly non-stop, which I found soothing, despite not understanding a single thing she said. Once I stretched out on my stomach, I heard my phone ringing and lifted my head.

She pressed on my back and made it clear I wasn't to get up. Hector, who had proven himself to be the perfect bodyguard by being invisible through most of my pampering, moved to my purse, reached in, and promptly shut off my phone.

"Hey," I argued. "That might have been important."

A shake of his head was his initial response before he explained, "Important will come through on my phone, too."

Despite the fact I didn't agree, I found I was too relaxed to argue the point.

Once I was finished with my hour under the skilled hands of a masseuse who didn't say a word, I felt like a bowl of JELL-O. I was capable of moving, but I wasn't coordinated enough to make my body go where I wanted it to. Hector guided me back up to our suite. When I started to walk to my room, he pulled me back and shook his head before pointing to his own door.

"Go to bed, _chica_," he told me, striking the balance right between not coming across as telling me what to do, while saying it in a way that made me think I'd just end up in there anyway, no matter what I tried to do, so I may as well start off with what he wanted.

Besides, I was suddenly exhausted, and lying down somewhere that I wasn't going to be awakened sounded heavenly at the moment, so I let him lead me into his room, pull back the covers, and then tuck me in, as though I was a young child being settled in for the night. Strangely, it felt relaxing and comforting, so I shut my eyes and gave into the need for sleep that was beginning to overwhelm me.

A few hours later, there was the unmistakable sound of raised voices shouting in the small living area of the hotel room. I was groggy and rolled over, but made no other attempt to wake up past that. The voices were loud, but since they were speaking in Spanish, it was easy to ignore. The next time I woke up, it was quiet, almost eerily silent. That was enough to wake me completely. Trenton was rarely this quiet, so the lack of noise forced me to get up and venture out of the bed where I'd been resting.

When I opened the door, Hector was sitting on the couch, typing on his laptop. No one else was in the room with him, and the door to my bedroom was wide open, leaving me to conclude that Ranger wasn't in there.

"Where's Ranger?" I asked, not sure I wanted to hear the answer.

Hector grinned. "Taking a walk."

The clock over the television showed it was five o'clock, which was the time he usually took his final walk of the day. I guess I'd been more exhausted than I thought, because I'd slept for a full four hours.

"Feel better?" he asked, setting his laptop aside and coming over to stand in front of me.

Nodding as the only response I could come up with, I looked around and wondered what kind of state Ranger would be in when he returned.

As if sensing where my thoughts were, Hector took my hand and pulled me toward my room. "Go get dressed. You're going out for dinner when the boss gets back."

"Dinner?" I questioned, unable to imagine why Ranger would take me anywhere since he'd been clear about not wanting me to see him.

"You'll see," he replied, seeming confident in his projection. "If he doesn't do it, I will. Either way, you go out, so go get dressed."

His logic that time definitely appealed to me, so I rushed into my room and glanced at myself in the mirror. Despite the marathon nap, my hair still looked good, so I only needed to change. I slipped into the only dress I'd brought, hoping the little black number would be appropriate for wherever we ended up. I touched up my make up and ran my fingers through my temporarily straightened locks before figuring this was as good as I could get, and then I fished out my single pair of heels and slipped them on. Just as my second foot went in its shoe, the door to the suite opened, and I knew Ranger was back.

I listened but couldn't hear a single word being said between the two men out front. I hated the idea of them fighting, so I stepped out, not sure how I could break up something if they started getting into it again.

Ranger was lifting a bottle of water to his lips when I came around the corner, and I struggled to keep myself from grinning when his arm froze in mid-air and his eyes widened so he could stare at me.

Trying to be patient, I gave him a minute to get over whatever short circuit his system was experiencing. When he didn't seem to be rebooting, I took the steps necessary to bridge the gap between us. Stopping right in front of him, I lifted the bottle from his hand and pulled it to my lips instead. After taking a drink, I set it on the counter and returned my attention to him. He'd managed to lower his arm, which encouraged me that he wasn't in some kind of catatonic state.

"You're beautiful," Ranger managed to say, his voice sounding strangely lower than usual.

"You're underdressed," I replied, avoiding the compliment by changing the subject completely.

He looked down at his sweat pants with the word Army printed on them, and the T-shirt in plain gray. "It might help if I knew the dress code."

Thank goodness teasing Ranger was back. I knew we needed to have a serious discussion, but it would be so much easier to have if I knew he wasn't mad at me. "I have been told that we're going out for dinner."

Ranger nodded and went into our room without another word. After the door closed behind him, I looked at Hector and asked, "What did you do to him?"

The expression of innocence on Hector's face was almost comical. "Me? I did nothing."

I lifted my index finger in his direction, letting the newly-painted tip point accusingly. "You did something, and whatever it was…thank you."

"_De nada_," he replied, using a Spanish word I understood. "We have reservations nearby," he offered.

"We?" I asked, wondering if it was going to be a romantic dinner for the three of us, and wondering how it would work with Hector there as the odd man out.

"_Si._ You have Ranger, and have a friend, too," he explained, giving me hope that Maxwell was going to join us for the meal. I had seen a great deal of them together, but it was usually stolen moments in the hall or the gym. I was excited to see them outside the hospital to see how they were getting along.

Much faster than I'd transformed, Ranger stepped out in a pair of black dress slacks and a red shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Where the clothes came from, I didn't know, and for some reason, my curiosity over it wasn't great enough for me to ask about it now.

"You're beautiful," I said, mimicking his description of me.

Ranger's lips pulled up at the right side in amusement. "We need to work on your manly descriptives, Babe."

Undeterred, I moved to stand next to him and let him drape an arm around me, pulling me into his side.

"I'm sorry about today at the gym."

I shook my head, not really wanting to ruin our night with the memory of what he'd said this morning. I knew we'd have to talk about it at some point; I just didn't want this to be the point that we had to face it.

Not stopped by my silent objection, he pressed on. "I was an ass. I was pissed off at the world, at my body, at my weakness, and you were the only one brave enough to stand up to me, so I jumped on you instead of admitting why I was really upset. I can't promise it won't happen again, but I can tell you I'm sorry for how I spoke to you."

"Let's not talk about this right now," I pleaded, vaguely aware that he was apologizing for how he'd spoken to me, but not what he'd said. He didn't want me to see him when he was weak, and he didn't think the guys would rally around him because he wasn't as whole as he used to be. Until he got over those two things, I knew we'd have more blow-ups. Unfortunately, I wasn't sure what to say or do that I hadn't already tried.

Finally, I decided that showing him there was nowhere I wanted to be other than by his side was the only way to help him accept I meant it when I said his injuries didn't matter to me at all. "Come on, Batman. We're going on our first date."

He repeated the words, as though testing them for truth. "First date? We've never gone out before?"

"You know we haven't," I replied, taking his hand and pulling him to the door. "Before you left Trenton, you were emphatic that you didn't do relationships, so we may have shared a meal or watched a movie at my place, but they certainly weren't dates."

"And now it is?" He seemed to be uncertain what to make of my assertion.

"Yes, because we're…well…" I realized we still hadn't defined what we were. In my mind, we were in a relationship, and we'd already discussed how we felt about each other, but we hadn't put any titles to what we were sharing.

He must have picked up on why my answer stalled because he picked up my sentence for me. "It's a date because we're together, right?"

"Right," I agreed, figuring together was the perfect way to explain this. Ranger was as much a part of me as my legs were. I didn't need a sappy title to give him; I could simply say we were together because this experience had made us that way. I'd always known that if we gave in to our feelings, it would change me, and I had all the proof for that I needed. I was definitely different. Some of that was because I'd elected to make some changes in myself, but some of it was because I could feel the strength that Ranger seemed to exude passing into me, as well. Being with him made me stronger, and together, I knew that I had the same effect on him.

_**Ranger's POV**_

Struggling in the gym this morning, I felt about as low as I had since the doctor first told me the full extent of my injuries. I'd put in the work, I'd managed the pain, but each day, I had felt myself improving, so I was able to press on, knowing every exercise was getting me closer to the independence I'd maintained. But today was so unexpected, and it reiterated the fact I'd been blissfully ignoring – I could do all the work I wanted to, but in the end, I wasn't going to get back to my level of normal. I hurt, I hated facing that I had limitations, and I hated that Stephanie was being so damned understanding and supportive. Because I was mad, I wanted her to be pissed along with me, so I pushed her until she snapped and then I shoved her away.

After the gym door closed, I looked back at Maxwell, expecting him to pick up where he'd left off and get me back on the treadmill. Instead, he was packing up about as fast as his hands could move.

"What are you doing?" I questioned.

"We're done for today," he replied flatly, not even looking at me as he spoke.

"Why?" I pushed back, apparently still itching for a fight.

His head snapped up, and I saw ice in his eyes. "Because your body needs a break, and because if I work with you, I'll hurt you."

"I'm tougher than I look," I replied, not willing to throw in the towel yet.

"No," he quickly disagreed. "She's tougher than she looks because she took the shit you threw at her and walked out with her head held high and not a single tear on her face. You are a damn coward, turning on her instead of asking what we could do to get you past this expected setback. If I work with you right now, I'm going to intentionally beat your ass to teach you that real men don't hurt the women who love them. I held you in much higher respect until that little scene, Manoso."

Then, without a moment to even explain that I didn't really want Stephanie to leave, that I felt badly for causing her pain, he stood up, slung the bag over his shoulder, and walked away.

At first, I was mad and decided to blame him for my current discomfort. If he hadn't pushed me so much yesterday, then I wouldn't be experiencing these symptoms now, and I wouldn't have yelled at Steph, but I knew that was a load of bullshit. I pulled my sorry ass back on the treadmill, figuring I had to learn to make my body do what it was supposed to do, even when it felt odd. If this was my new reality, then I had to find some way to cope.

I was in no hurry to get back to the hotel, so I took my time in the gym, relaxed in the whirlpool afterward, and then slowly walked back to the hotel. By the time I arrived, I was relaxed and not in the pain I had been in this morning. I took the elevator, still not that comfortable on the stairs, and went to our suite, expecting to find Stephanie there so I could eat a little crow and get back in her good graces. I owed her an apology and was man enough to give her one.

But when I went in, Hector was working on his laptop on the couch in the sitting room, and Stephanie was nowhere to be found. Using Spanish, I questioned him about her whereabouts, and he basically told me that I'd sent her away, so wherever she might be was completely my fault. I didn't care for that answer, so I demanded he tell me where he was hiding her, and he matched my tone with anger of his own to tell me, "_She's trying to get herself put back together after this asshole tore her apart this morning. Other than that, you have no right to ask anything of her_."

I tried telling him I was there to apologize, that he didn't have to jump on me, but Hector's eyes hardened, and I knew he wasn't seeing an apology as the correct next step.

"_She__ doesn't need words. You gave her words this morning. What she needs is to see that the man she's fighting for is willing to fight for __her, too__. She needs to see you want to claim a life with her. That you refuse to give up on what the two of you can have. If you can't give her that, then cut her loose now. It will crush her, but at this point, she might survive. Don't you dare drag this out and then take a __coward's__ way out later._"

I ran my hand over my face in an attempt to hide my reaction to his words. That was at the heart of all this. I knew she deserved a rich life full of everything the world had to offer, but I hadn't accepted that I was still capable of giving her that. In truth, I was giving therapy my all, but there was a piece of me still holding back, waiting to make an ultimate judgment about my future until I knew exactly what my body could do. I had accepted this limbo, but it was wrong to ask Stephanie to live with that uncertainty, as well. It was time to man up and either commit to a life with her or resolve to give up on everything.

"I'm taking a walk," I informed him, no longer feeling the drive to fight.

"_When you come back, you need to have come to some kind of conclusion. I won't let her stay here and be dragged around by you much longer. It's too high a price unless you are willing to love her as she deserves to be loved_."

I resented him questioning how I felt about Stephanie, but I knew that a profession of devotion without the actions to back it up didn't mean much. Hector was right. I needed to put some of this to rest, and I needed to do it before I saw her again.

My injuries didn't make me less of a man, but my inability to commit myself to a future made me a shell of what she deserved. If I was going to let her be in my life, then I needed to give something back to her just as freely as she was giving of herself to me. I owed her a home and life. Despite what I might have told her, my legs hadn't kept me from giving that to her. My foolish pride was the only thing blocking our way of having a future together.

Without another word, I stepped back into the hall and made my way outside. I knew what she deserved. I knew I wanted to be the one to give it to her. I just needed to commit myself to it and find a way to let go of my own bitterness over what I didn't have before I lost my dream that was currently right in front of me.


	18. Getting There

_JE created the characters below, so she also gets the royalties and credit to go along with it._

_Jenny (JenRar) I wish I could offer you more than a sentence or two at the top of each chapter for all your hard work as the beta on this story. _

**Chapter 18 – Getting There**

_**Ranger's POV**_

After a mission, it's always a bit of a struggle to reacclimatize to civilian life. I hadn't considered it a problem this time because I'd been in the hospital and in therapy for so long, I figured all those instincts and urges to stay on the defensive would have subsided. Obviously, I'd been wrong. It could be that I wasn't exactly wrong so much as I was irritated that every man in the restaurant except the two we were dining with seemed to be looking at Stephanie with a certain hunger in their eyes. I recognized the look because I had the same one when I looked at her on a regular basis.

Utilizing some breathing techniques and a few stress management tools I'd picked up, I managed to keep my blood pressure from skyrocketing, but when the band started playing with a loud drummer, I reached for my gun, convinced we were under attack. Stephanie must have noticed because she caught my hand as it moved behind me and then strongly pulled my hand to rest in her lap. When I looked at her to both question what she was doing and then thank her when I realized she'd prevented me from making a major scene, she winked at me and moved her shoulders back and forth to the beat of the drums, as though reiterating that it was music for people to dance to.

Maxwell saw her movement and instantly stood up. "Would you let me dance with the most beautiful woman here?"

Stephanie looked at Hector first, who seemed to be smiling in agreement, and then glanced my way. I knew she didn't need my permission to dance before dinner, but I appreciated that she was considering how I would feel about another man holding her in his arms. I nodded and tried to smile in return, knowing she loved to dance and that I wasn't exactly in a condition to twirl her around the floor myself.

I kept my eyes glued on them as Maxwell moved to the edge of the dance floor, spun her around, and then pulled her to him, keeping a respectful distance between them but holding her close enough that they could hear each other over the music. Stephanie moved as gracefully as she always did on the dance floor, and my physical therapist seemed to be enjoying his time with her.

Hector interrupted my show by saying, "They move well together." I nodded my agreement, giving him the chance to say, "You could cut in at any time."

"Right," I said sarcastically, drawing out the word. Then, trying not to sound defeated, I said, "I like watching her move around freely, not having to worry about supporting the weight of her partner."

When I glanced back to see why he hadn't responded, he was glaring at me. Quickly, he stood and placed a hand on my shoulder before leaning down to whisper in my ear quietly enough that only I could hear his voice. "Then I'll cut in so she doesn't forget what it's like to be held by a man. Dancing isn't about flamboyant movements. You've got Latin blood in you, man. You should know it's about putting your heart to the beat."

Before I could object, Hector moved from me to the dance floor, where he cut in and pulled Stephanie into his arms. She rested her head on his shoulder and shut her eyes. He swayed with her, barely shuffling his feet but moving them around just the same. I knew what he was doing, and I wasn't going to let it work. He was trying to show me that I didn't need to run in order to dance with my woman. I would have succeeded in holding fast to my conviction about staying at the table until Hector put his thigh between her legs and bent her backwards over his arm, dipping her in such a way that he could free his right hand to run up her stomach to the bottom of her breasts. If any other man had done that, I'd have shot first and threatened second. Without thinking it through, I found myself on my feet, stalking them on the floor. Hector pulled her up and whispered something in her ear just as I arrived. She looked at me, face flushed either in embarrassment or from being upturned dancing with Hector, and I was struck with how beautiful she was.

"Do you want to dance with me?" she asked when I just stood there, saying nothing. I knew I was a man of few words, but it wasn't often that I was completely speechless.

Hector vanished the second she spoke, and I opened my arms so that she could walk into them. As soon as I pulled her into my arms, I felt her melt against me. I didn't recognize the song the band was playing, but it was slow and sensual sounding and fit the way she moved against me. I was easily able to sway with her and loved the sense of peaceful normalcy that such a simple action brought to me. Of course, the next song was fast, and I wasn't sure I wanted to attempt anything like that yet. Before I could suggest we take a seat, she lifted her head and announced, "Oh, dinner is here. Let's go eat."

It wasn't the first time she'd picked a meal over me, and I knew it wouldn't be the last. Fortunately, I loved to watch her eat so being pulled back to the table wasn't a hardship. Stephanie embraced everything about life, but especially flavorful food.

She was only halfway through her pasta drenched in a creamy sauce when Maxwell asked, "Is she always like this?" His voice sounded strained, and even though I was sure he was gay, I knew that the way Stephanie made dinner into a porno soundtrack didn't really discriminate between sexual orientation.

"Every time," Hector answered, reaching across the table to squeeze the hand of the man who was obviously struggling to understand our dining companion. Then he added the warning, "Wait until dessert."

Maxwell made a groaning noise, obviously unsure if he could tolerate it getting worse. I looked at Stephanie as she took another bite, shutting her eyes in satisfaction as the flavor hit her tongue. She had a way of drawing out every ounce of pleasure from a situation. A man could learn a lot from her in that respect. More specifically, _I_ could learn a little about how to enjoy what was in front of me instead of pining over what had been lost.

She finished her pasta and placed an order for dessert when the waiter asked.

As soon as he left, I took her hand in mine and asked, "Babe, will you dance with me again?"

The surprise on her face was almost comical, but the obviously approval on Hector's and Maxwell's more than made up for it.

I spun her around and then tucked her tightly against my body to move to the beat of the music. Her head rested against my shoulder, so I kissed the hair there and put my cheek on her head to keep it there as I spoke. "I have to tell you something, and I need you to let me get it out, okay?"

Her head nodded, and she made no attempt to lift it up and look at me, which I appreciated. She probably knew I was struggling with what I wanted to say and didn't want to make it any harder on me than it already was.

"Before you came here, I was at the end of my rope. I was trying to decide if the work of therapy was worth it just to end up a shell of my usual self. I had decided that if I couldn't improve to what I considered an acceptable level, I would find a way to take my life and not bother trying to live half a life in Trenton. Then, you showed up and filled me with purpose. I wanted to prove Maxwell wrong and was willing to push myself beyond what he expected in order to claim the life I now saw I could have with you."

Her arms tightened around me when I mentioned a future with us together. She even made a sweet sound of approval.

"Then I had a bit of a setback this morning. I know Maxwell wasn't surprised, but I was. Never had my hard work failed to bring out the result I wanted. It felt like the ultimate failure because the body I'd spent so much time toning wasn't responding the way I thought it should be. Instead of taking a step back and asking Maxwell what to do, I got pissed and fell back into the frame of mind I'd been in before you got here. I was questioning whether or not I even had a future, and I pushed you away so I wouldn't feel as guilty for what I was really considering."

She tried to lift her head, but I moved my hand to the back of her head, hoping she would understand that I wasn't done yet.

"Of course, Hector kept you out of my sight, and between him and Maxwell, they helped me to look at what I was really doing and how I needed to either choose life, which meant a life with you, or choose giving up, which meant never seeing you again."

Her arms tightened around me once more, but this time, I got the feeling she was trying to weigh in on what I'd decided to do.

"It didn't take me long to realize that I've been ruled by my past for far too long. There is no way I could go on without you, but you weren't trying to make me. You just wanted me to walk along with you. And I finally got a glimpse of just what that means this afternoon. I'm a stubborn ass, Babe. I can be harsh, and stubborn, and there are parts of my past that are completely off limits, but if you're willing, everything I have, I will gladly give to you for as long as you want it."

This time when she tried to lift her head, I didn't fight it and let her look me in the eye. The grin on her face was one that I wished I could somehow commit to memory, as I couldn't ever remember seeing such a lovely smile. She was literally glowing with joy.

"Now it's my turn," she told me, trying to harden her expression to show she was serious, but she failed miserably. "I didn't come halfway across the world to only spend a few weeks with you. I came here to show you I want it all. If you can put up with my crazy stalkers, my stubborn ways, and my independent streak, then I will gladly share everything I have for as long as you want it, too."

"Careful, Babe. Those sounded an awful lot like wedding vows," I tried to tease her, although as the words came out of my mouth, I wished they were true.

"They did, didn't they?" she surprised me by answering.

We looked at each other with a mixture of happiness and confusion over how something we'd both stated an aversion to in the past seemed so simple right now.

"You're not going to give up?" she asked, as though nervous about what my answer was going to be.

"Not as long as you won't give up on me," I assured her.

She made a gesture that implied that wasn't going to happen. "It might get hard, and you might have a few setbacks," she pushed once more.

Because of how I'd responded today, I could understand her difficulty in believing that I wouldn't be tempted to give up again. "I'm sure I'll get pissed and need you to remind me that what we have is more than enough."

"It is, you know…enough, I mean. I don't need anything more to be happy for the rest of my life," she boldly proclaimed.

It wasn't that I wanted to argue with her, but I knew that wasn't true. "I think there's one more thing you need to be happy for the rest of your life."

"What?" I could feel her challenge in just that single word.

"A home," I pointed out. "You need us to have a finish date here so that we can go back home and reclaim our life together there."

"I'd stay here if that's what you wanted," she assured me, obviously willing to say goodbye to everything familiar if that's what it took to make me happy. I'd never ask her to do that, but it meant so much to know she would have done it anyway.

"I know you would," I replied, needing to honor the sacrifice she would have made for me. "But I won't ask that of you, and I think, even though I'm not sure how I'll handle being back, I might need some of the support that comes from being home, too."

"You're willing to go back to Trenton?" she asked cautiously, looking like a girl on Christmas who was afraid to believe the present in her hands was exactly the thing she had most wished for.

"I'm willing to go anywhere with you once I'm released," I clarified, leaving the decision of where we ended up in her hands. I missed the guys in Trenton; they'd been my friends for so long, it was hard to remember life without them. But there was still a piece of me that worried about how they would react to hearing about my permanent limitations.

Abandoning the pretense of dancing, she flung her arms around my shoulders and hugged me to her, overwhelmed in her joy. Standing there on the edge of the dance floor, we agreed we wouldn't leave Germany until Maxwell felt we had accomplished everything possible. But she did manage to wear me down enough to let her call home tomorrow to talk to Tank herself. She would let him know where she was, and if he pushed for information, she could tell him that I'd been hurt but was on the mend, and we'd return home as soon as I was fully released. I wasn't ready to talk to my second-in-command yet. I knew I'd come a long way today, but there were some battles you had to prepare yourself for, and I hadn't yet worked up to talking to Tank about what my life was going to be like.

Back at the table, she worked her way through her dessert with Maxwell watching her take every bite. "I've never met a person like her," he commented, as though she were a science experiment, not a living, breathing woman.

"There isn't another like her," Hector informed him. I had to agree.

When she finished the last bite, she pushed the dish away from her and relaxed against the back of her chair, obviously full and blissed out from the sugar high of her chocolate cake. After sitting still for ten seconds, her eyes popped open, and she caught Maxwell's eye to say, "Ranger and I were talking about going home, and I wondered if you had any idea how much more progress he can make."

Maxwell sat up straighter and cleared his throat before saying, "There's still more ground for him to cover, but I'd say another week will probably get him to a level of being able to handle whatever a normal life might throw at him. He can continue to build up lower body strength and endurance at home without my help, so if I had to ball park it, I'd say with another six days, we could max out the good I can do for him."

She looked over at Hector, who was watching my therapist, as though hanging on every word. "Is there a reason for us to stay longer than that?"

Hector looked at both of us and shook his head. "No, you go home when you're ready. Everyone there misses you."

"What about you?" she asked gently.

He shrugged and responded, "Me, they don't miss so much."

Clearly that wasn't what she meant, but the look on his face when he looked back at Maxwell was enough to silence her. As happy as she was to return home, Hector definitely didn't share those feelings.

"Do you get to the States very often?" she asked, directing her question to Maxwell.

He pulled his eyes from Hector and answered, "Not really. I was there a year or so ago, but I haven't had much reason to travel back since then."

"Have you even considered leaving Germany?" she pushed, willing to break the rules of proper conversation if it meant finding a way to ease the pain of her friend.

"My skills are pretty specialized," he explained, sounding more like he was reciting an answer he'd given before instead of speaking from the heart. "I need to work where I can do the most good. I could go back to the U.S., but I would be faced with cases that any run-of-the-mill PT can handle. Here is where I'm in demand and where I can honestly say I'm changing lives. I need to stay here."

Stephanie was looking between the two of them with the expression she got when she was working through a background search, trying to find a missing connection that had evaded everyone else. I could almost see the gears turning. Discussion of us leaving Germany had definitely lowered the mood, so I asked Stephanie if she wanted to take a stroll with me before we turned in for the night. She picked up on my hint that we needed to give these two a chance to work things out for themselves and give them the privacy to have that kind of discussion.

We took our time walking from the restaurant back to the hotel, talking about home and the guys. By the time we reached our room, I was no longer as afraid of returning as I had been. I didn't harbor any delusions that it would be as easy as Steph seemed convinced it would be, but I knew that putting it off any longer amounted to hiding, and now that I'd decided to get on with my life, hiding was the coward's way, which no longer sat well with me.

**_Stephanie's POV_ **

"You've got to focus more on your center of gravity," Maxwell explained to Ranger after knocking him down in the newly-roped-off sparring ring in the gym. "Your speed is slower, so your positioning is important, both to gain enough strength for your kick to be effective and for you to stay upright until you are on two legs again."

I shut my eyes to keep myself from turning around to see if Ranger was getting angry. The fact that the treadmill was forcing me to move at a rather-fast paced jog also worked against my snooping tendencies, so I had to focus on the auditory clues to know what was happening beside me.

"All right," Ranger replied. "Let's do it again."

My face broke out into a smile at his attitude. Since we'd gone out to dinner and he'd finally confessed the brutal truth of how low he had been, he'd been handling the limitations of his injuries much better. It helped, too, that the next day, Maxwell had taped his hands, had him working a body bag, and then pulled him in the ring to actually transition the work into a real setting. The more physical Ranger could be, the less he struggled with his temper.

"All right," Maxwell called out. "Obviously you've got the general idea." He laughed a little before adding, "Let's stop while my kidneys still have a hope of functioning without a bag hooked on my belt."

"You know, some of the things you've been working on would be helpful to my guys back home, too. They aren't hurt, but the balance and leverage work would make them even more effective," Ranger commented, as though he didn't have an ulterior motive.

"If you want to give them an all-expenses paid trip to Germany, then I'll gladly make time for them in my schedule, but until then, I'm focused on where I can do the most good," Maxwell said, repeating the argument I'd heard him make over the last few days.

I understood what he meant, but each time he said it, he sounded less and less convinced that it was the right thing to do. I almost regretted that we were leaving in two days because I could see some cracks in his conviction that might have made it possible to convince him to come back to the States with us if we just had more time to wear him down.

By the time I hit the wall and couldn't run anymore, Ranger was finished, so we walked together hand in hand back to the hotel to get cleaned up.

Hector was waiting on us and smiled when we walked in. "Go good?" he asked, obviously interested in how Ranger was continuing to improve.

"Getting there," Ranger answered, using the new reply he'd begun to embrace. He wasn't where he wanted to be, and he wasn't where Maxwell thought he could be, but he was able to identify the progress he was making to get there. That was enough to keep him focused.

We'd stayed up several nights talking about what to tell the guys at RangeMan. He knew the core team would have to hear the full story, but the rest of the men, he wasn't as excited about giving full disclosure. He wanted to give the impression that his mission had just ended so they would expect him to need a little work to recondition back to his pre-deployment level, but he didn't want them to know he was literally a couple of months into his recovery. I could see why he didn't want the full story getting out to the general population of Trenton, but I felt like more of the guys needed to know besides the big three. Still, this was his body and his company, so I had to concede that his opinion mattered more.

Standing in the shower, letting the water run over both of us, I realized that who he told or not wasn't really that important. What mattered was that out of something destructive and horrible, we had found a way to build something beautiful and strong. And while I wouldn't push him to tell anyone about his injuries, there was no way I was going to be quiet about what we were to each other now.

"Good," he interrupted what I thought were my inner musings. "Because I want the whole damn town to know you are mine now, too."

Didn't that just heat up the temperature of the tilled room? I was his, and for once in my life, there were no nagging doubts, no little voice telling me I was going to screw this up somehow, and no fears that I wasn't good enough. We belonged to each other, and having survived the trial by fire here, I felt a confidence down deep that what we'd bring back to Trenton would easily pass the tests that might come our way there. I didn't have anything to offer as proof, but I had my instincts, and since following them had brought us this far, I knew they would get us home, too.


	19. Home

_JE created the characters below._

_Jenny (JenRar) once again I am in your debt as you worked your beta magic on this chapter._

**Chapter 19 – Home**

_**Stephanie's POV**_

"Are you comfortable?" I asked, not wanting to get on his nerves by hovering, but I couldn't help but notice he was fidgeting. I had no idea what it meant, but I knew something was wrong because Ranger never fidgets.

"I'm fine, Babe," he attempted to convince me. "Go back to sleep."

"As soon as you tell me the truth, I'll shut my eyes and leave you alone," I countered, feeling a full-fledged temper tantrum coming on if he tried to lie to me.

"You know, some men have women who take their word for it when they say everything is good, and they let the matter drop," he replied, as though he were irritated. The fact that his chest shook slightly at the end blew his cover because I knew he was trying to hold in a laugh.

"That's a shame, because I'll bet they get tired of their boring women with no minds to think on their own," I bit back. "You, on the other hand, are stuck with a woman who isn't a fool and can be stubborn when the situation calls for it."

This time when he looked down, I was gifted with one of his rare, full-megawatt smiles. "Some guys have all the luck."

I smacked his arm because I couldn't tell if he meant the men with the mindless women were the lucky ones, or he was. That was exactly the kind of confusing statement he seemed to specialize in that routinely drove me crazy. "Quit trying the change the subject and get me distracted," I warned. "Why are you on edge?"

He let his humor drift away and narrowed his eyes, "You aren't going to let this go, are you?"

My eyes narrowed as I attempted to give him a look that said, _Really__, do you not know me at all by now_?

"I'm nervous," he admitted softly. "I can't remember the last time I felt this way."

"Really?" I found that hard to believe. Perhaps because I had to give myself regular pep talks to make it through the normal things life threw at me. I guess I figured there were occasions that even the great Batman had to do the same. "How about when you were walking in to face Scrog?"

If ever there was a time when nervousness was warranted, it would have been then. He didn't know for sure what he was walking into, and for all he knew, he might have been about to lose his life.

"I wasn't nervous when I walked into your apartment," he answered, bringing me back from my mental ramblings. "I was determined and convinced that was the right thing to do. I knew there was a chance I would lose my life, but if it gave the guys downstairs a chance to save yours, then it was absolutely worth it."

I tried to rephrase what I thought he'd said. "So if you know you're doing the right thing, then you don't get nervous?"

"Usually," he agreed easily.

"Does that mean you aren't sure going home is the right thing to do?" I worried.

He shook his head. "No, I know it's time to go home, but I'm second guessing not having at least warned Tank what I'll be like when we get there."

We'd had that debate almost daily for a week before packing up from our hotel in Germany and coming back home. I thought he should go ahead and talk to Tank on the phone, but he was dead set against it. In the end, I had to bend to his wishes, but I worried that it might hurt Tank that Ranger didn't trust him enough to let him know he was injured. I knew giving him an "I told you so" look wouldn't be helpful, so I kept my head turned down to be sure he didn't pick up on something I didn't intend to send out.

"I know you told me to tell him," Ranger spoke up, making me curse my internal transmitter, which had obviously sent the message anyway, "but I didn't want him setting up systems ahead of my arrival to compensate for what I can and can't do."

"No one will know unless you tell them," I pointed out, so proud of the work he'd done over the last month to get himself mobile again. I knew he had restrictions, but I couldn't tell a difference when I looked at him, and I was convinced the guys wouldn't be able to, either. If anything, all the work he'd been doing on his upper body had bulked him up a little more, making him look even more intimidating.

"Oh, they'll guess, but they may not say anything," he disagreed, nearly leading us down the trail of an argument we'd nearly perfected.

"Maybe the fact that I've been working out will pull some of the attention off you," I blurted out, unsure where the comment had come from.

He raised an eyebrow, and then his face softened. "You are looking damn hot, Babe."

Ranger was a gifted man in many ways, not the least of which was using a limited amount of words to get a maximum amount of reaction in me. There was no reason six words should make me want to straddle him in the first class seats we were sitting in, but that's exactly the image that flooded my brain. Most people were sleeping; if we could be quiet, I doubt many of them would even notice.

"But can you promise to be that quiet?" he questioned, causing my face to match a fully ripe tomato.

Feeling the need to be honest, I answered, "Probably not."

Ranger pulled me closer to his side and ran his hand up and down my arm as I leaned on him. He suggested we try to rest so that we wouldn't be too jetlagged when we touched down in New York in a few hours.

I tried to follow his advice, especially when I felt his breathing even off and his grip on me soften, but my mind simply wouldn't stop spinning. As much as I wanted to go home, leaving Germany and the medical center there was much harder than I'd thought it would be.

Henderson and I had been sharing a cup of coffee each day while Ranger did some follow-up therapy with one of Maxwell's staff, and she'd encouraged me to keep pushing him without backing down. Then she'd told me that despite how good his care had been, she was convinced that if I hadn't shown up when I did, he wouldn't have held on much longer. I'd tried to argue with her about that – telling her that he might have been in a bad place, but I doubted he would have really given up. Despite what he'd said, I knew Ranger, and nothing in him was a quitter. Yesterday, she'd hugged me tightly and told me if I ever needed a second career, she thought nursing might suit me really well. I'd thanked her for the compliment, but deep down, I knew that wasn't true. Being around the patients would be fun, but anything dealing with blood or bodily fluids was more than I could handle.

Maxwell and I had parted on good terms, as well, but I'd lost my cool with him the day before we left. I'd felt Hector withdrawing each day as the time for us to leave drew near. I knew he was going to miss the man he'd been spending time with, but he refused to ask Maxwell to leave the place he claimed needed him. I tried to make the argument that there were plenty of VA hospitals in the states that could utilize his skills, but he continued to repeat his mantra about doing the most good there. Finally, I'd gotten mad and told him I'd never taken him for a coward. When he'd challenged me by stating that it took great courage to stick with your convictions, I'd agreed but told him that wasn't what he was doing. He was hiding behind an excuse and running away from something that could be amazing. For someone who spent time helping soldiers dig down deep and find the strength and courage to do the seemingly impossible, I was disappointed he couldn't work that same magic on himself. In the end, he'd admitted that watching Hector go was the hardest thing he'd ever done, but he'd repeated that he really had no choice. I figured we would have to agree to disagree on that one.

Hector had been super attentive as we packed up to leave the hotel. He'd taken care of all the arrangements and gotten us to the airport and on the plane without a hitch. But the second we sat down, he'd pulled his hood up over his head, put on some earphones, and shut his eyes. I hadn't seen him turn on any music, but it was clear he was shutting down and didn't want to interact with anyone. My friend was hurting, and it almost made me feel guilty to be lying on Ranger, so comfortable and content when he'd had to leave someone he'd obviously grown to care for over all the time we'd been there.

I'd snatched Maxwell's email address from Henderson because I refused to give up on the idea that he and Hector should be together. Once I got settled at home, I planned on coming up with a way to make that happen. If he thought I was going to leave and forget how wonderful it was to see Hector laughing and talking because he was genuinely happy, then he had another thing coming. Maybe if Ranger had a bad day, I could distract him by enlisting his help in having Maxwell kidnapped, crated, and brought to Trenton as a thank you gift for all Hector had done for us.

"What are you smiling about?" Ranger asked, not moving his head to look at me.

"What makes you think I'm smiling?" I turned the question on him, unsure how he even knew it since his eyes were shut.

"You got happy all of a sudden, and when you're happy, you smile," he replied with a grin of his own.

I nuzzled against him, finding a comfy spot before calling him a know-it-all and finally drifting off to sleep.

When we landed in New York, it felt good to stand and stretch. I'd gotten up a few times on the flight across the Atlantic, but walking to the bathroom and moving without the confines of the airplane were totally different sensations to me. Despite being tired and feeling slightly hung-over, I was excited to know we'd soon be home and could sleep together in the world's most comfortable bed. Hector had done an amazing job in getting us luxury accommodations in Germany, but nothing compared to the sheets on seven.

Hector turned into Mr. Efficiency once again and pulled us over to where a man dressed in all black was standing.

Ranger tilted his head at the driver of the SUV and said only, "Lawrence," before climbing in and pulling me into the back seat with him.

Hector loaded our bags in the back and then sat in the front beside the driver. The moment the vehicle began to move, Hector pulled his hood back up and assumed his closed-off persona. I decided to let it go for now, but after he'd had a chance to rest in his own bed, if he was still acting like this, I was going to have to move up the timeline on the whole kidnapping Maxwell plan.

"Do I need to worry about what you're thinking?" Ranger whispered in my ear so that only I could hear.

"You'd probably think so," I answered honestly, getting a soft laugh in return.

Once he'd shaken off his initial battle of nerves on the airplane, he'd settled into the rest of the trip and relaxed. I was glad to see that he was keeping that whole chill zone thing going, even though we were less than an hour from the office.

When we arrived at Haywood, it was around 3:30 in the morning. The building was completely silent, and since we hadn't warned anyone when to expect us, there was no welcoming party for the boss. I had been so tempted to tell Tank on the phone when he asked me if I knew when I'd been coming back home, but I'd stuck to Ranger's wishes and just told him "soon."

In the elevator, Hector put a key in just below the round buttons for each floor and turned it to the right. Then he hit the number seven, and we rode to the top floor without stopping along the way. He caught me looking at him and explained, "Overriding the control room so they can't stop the elevator or pick up anything on the cameras."

"Aren't you worried the dead signal will send off all kinds of warning bells to the guys in the control room?" I asked, wondering how long we had until someone showed up at the apartment door to see what was wrong.

Hector shook his head no. "They saw us come in the front and get on the elevator. They know it's the boss, so they'll respect that he's still off-line."

That seemed to make sense, so I stopped asking questions, not wanting to insult the man who was still watching over me, taking his commitment very seriously to keep me safe until he delivered me back to where he'd picked me up.

Hector fobbed us into the apartment and held the door open for us to pass through before mysteriously disappearing. Ella had obviously kept the place spotless while we were gone because there wasn't a speck of dust and no feeling that the place had been closed up and unused for a while.

"How does it feel to be home?" I asked when Ranger put an arm around me and stood in the foyer.

He looked down at me and took his time before answering. "It's geography," he replied, confusing me completely. "I've been at home since I opened my eyes in the hospital and saw you standing there."

There were some gifts that couldn't be wrapped, but that didn't make them any less valuable. Hearing Ranger actually use the words to tell me that he considered me his home was probably the greatest gift he could have given.

_**Ranger's POV**_

Damn, I hated this feeling – everything was sore. I knew I would be stiff from sitting for so long yesterday and then going straight to bed when we got back, but Stephanie seemed eager to come to the bedroom after we arrived, and I didn't feel like resisting. After thinking about it, my lack of resistance may have had more to do with a few of my sore muscles than the lack of movement over the day. Something about me calling her my home had gotten to her, and from the moment we got to the bedroom, she'd been wild.

I loved it when she took control, and last night had proved just how incredibly sexy she could be when she was confident and in charge. Why men thought women needed to be subservient to their needs in bed was beyond me. A woman on a mission of pleasure was a ride unlike any other.

"What put that smile on your face?" Steph asked without moving her head to even look at me.

"What makes you think I'm smiling?" I turned the question on her much the way she had on the flight yesterday.

"You just felt happy all of a sudden, so I took a guess that your face would show it," she misquoted me in response. Then she moved so that her chin was resting on my chest and her naked body was pressed against me. "How do you feel this morning?"

Everything inside me wanted to say fine. I wanted to get back into the groove of my life in Trenton, which included showing no signs of weakness. But we'd been honest with each other since she showed up to rescue me from myself in the hospital, and I wouldn't betray her by lying to her now – especially not here, while we were bare to each other in our bedroom.

Shit, the thought of this being _our_ bedroom was a hard thought to fight away. We hadn't talked about the specifics of how our…relationship…was going to work. But I didn't like the idea of her going back to her death trap and leaving me here at the office. I'd promised myself I wouldn't take her freedom away, but damn, I hated the idea of her staying somewhere without me.

"Are you ignoring the question?" she interrupted my side tangent to ask, "or are you still working out the answer?"

"I'm stiff," I replied, figuring that was honest without forcing me to admit to hurting, which was just a small step removed from weakness.

She moved slightly against me and moaned. "Yes, you are, but that's not unusual for you in the morning."

It was impossible to wallow in pity when Stephanie was around. Her cheeks were warm and pink from blushing, but she wasn't letting something like her discomfort with making suggestive comments keep her from distracting me.

"So, you have two options," she began, causing me to raise an eyebrow in question. "We can take care of your stiff problem first, or I can give you a massage since we didn't do that before going to sleep last night, and then I can take care of your stiffness."

"Come here, Babe," I spoke, pulling her up so that I could kiss her good morning. I knew that she was aware of how I felt, but she was giving me the chance to decide what I needed and not forcing the remembrance of my medical condition to keep me from feeling like a man with her.

An hour later, I couldn't really say that my choice of what to do first made me feel any better, but I could offer definite proof that endorphins would dull pain. I was damn near boneless when Stephanie rolled me over and climbed up to straddle my back. Her hand strength had definitely increased since she'd been caring for me, and her skills for zoning in on all the knotted muscles were obviously intact, as well. I forced myself into the zone of taking deep breaths through the pain she was working out of my body and lost myself in the memory of what we'd just shared. Experiences like that were too good to end just because we'd drained ourselves. They deserved to be savored in one's memories long after they were over.

"Stop that!" she commanded harshly while pressing her elbow into my lower back.

"What?" I was confused about what I was doing wrong. As far as I knew, I was just lying here while she took care of me.

"You just moaned," Steph explained, pushing even harder into the stubborn tight muscle.

"I'm getting a massage; of course I moaned," I defended myself.

"Try that with someone else, mister," she argued back. "What I'm doing hurts; you've never made a sound like you enjoyed it before. That moan was just like the one you made last night when I did that thing with my tongue on your—"

"Okay," I interrupted, not sure I could handle her sweet little mouth talking dirty to me at the moment. "I might have been remembering something like that."

She made a satisfied sound, as though she'd won a victory of sorts in getting me to admit I'd been thinking about what we'd done last night and this morning. It probably should have been upsetting that she'd gotten a confession out of me, but honestly, I'd challenge any man to stay in complete control when Stephanie was naked, straddling their waist, and talking about sex.

Once she finished, she stretched out on my back and kissed my neck. "So what's the plan for this morning?"

I looked at the clock and saw it was already 0900. "Gym," I answered. I knew I needed to keep up the work I'd been doing with Maxwell because missing a day at this point would almost certainly cause me to slip backwards instead of continuing the forward momentum I had on my side. As much as I hated the idea of the guys seeing me doing less than my typical workout, I had to just suck up my pride and deal with it. There was no way around it. Besides, they would all know eventually, despite my arrogance in saying I didn't want to tell anyone.

"Good," she replied, getting off me before I was ready for her to move. "I'll throw on my workout clothes, and we'll go down together."

I didn't know why her response surprised me. She'd been working out in Germany every day along with me. I figured when she was no longer being guilted into it, she would fall back into her old habits of sleeping in and being more sedentary.

"Come on, Batman," she called from the bathroom. "If we go down together, the guys will only watch me working out, and they'll assume any changes in your usual routine are my fault."

I rolled to the side of the bed and went through the process of standing for the first time each day, waiting to see how my legs would feel as the blood flow normalized after being off them all night. Most days they felt normal, but sometimes, they would tingle or, on the bad mornings, be totally devoid of sensation all together. Luck was on my side today, though, because as soon as I stood up, I felt solid. I might be able to put off the inevitable of the guys seeing my limitations for another day after all.

When Stephanie walked out of the bathroom, she was wearing a pair of fitted shorts that looked like she'd painted them on. On top, she was in what she called a sports bra with nothing over it as a cover. After she finished tying her shoes, she motioned for me to get moving.

"Come on, Ranger," she taunted me. "Let me prove why I'm your go-to gal for distractions."

Why I'd fought the way I felt for her for so long was a complete mystery. I didn't need any more evidence of why we worked so well together, but she seemed intent on giving it to me anyway.

As she walked out of the bedroom, I watched her sweet little ass sway from side to side and realized she was definitely capable of keeping the attention off me today. Of course, this plan had the potential to seriously blow up on me, as well, because if the guys came down to ogle her newly-toned body, I was going to have to call on every ounce of restraint I had to keep from calling them to the mats. Some habits died hard.

From the kitchen came the sound of Stephanie, obviously enjoying whatever Ella had brought for our breakfast. I looked down and realized we'd come full circle. Despite the massage and extended wake up, I was still stiff again. I sighed and forced myself to move. I knew Stephanie was right about us needing to go downstairs now to keep my recovery on track, but a trip to the gym wasn't what I needed to cure my growing problem.


	20. Group Bonding

_JE is the one who created the characters below. Unfortunately, I deserve no credit._

_Jenny (JenRar) you are an amazingly gifted beta, and I am thankful that I get the opportunity to work with you. _

**Chapter 20 – Group Bonding**

**_Ranger's POV_ **

Steph's plan worked like a charm in the gym, and we managed to get thirty minutes to ourselves, at which time the guys began pouring in, primarily focusing on her and ignoring me. There used to be a time that my men would have checked in with me first, but I couldn't blame them for wanting to get a look at Stephanie's newly-toned body. When I finished my workout, she managed to time her ending simultaneously and announced we were going back upstairs to get cleared up and we'd talk to everybody on five later.

Her take-charge attitude that had developed while I'd been in the hospital seemed to carry over here, as well, and not one of the men questioned her or complained when she told them to get back to work.

I stretched out for a few minutes while she got dressed and complained about fixing her hair. I wasn't sure why she seemed to worry so much about it. The wild, untamed curls were one of my favorite features of her body, and it seemed like a shame when she gave up and pulled it back. I couldn't help but smile when she walked out and noticed she had used one of my leather ties. It was subtle, but the sight of her wearing something that clearly belonged to me was exactly what I needed to see at the moment.

"What do you need to do this morning?" she asked while slathering her bagel with cream cheese, as though spreading icing on a cake.

"Usually, I spend my first day back reviewing reports from Tank," I explained, not really excited about the hours of reading ahead of me, but content to know that I wouldn't have any trouble performing that specific task at least. For today, I could probably pull off the appearance of normalcy.

"Do you think the guys will be checking in on you more than usual?" she asked, the lines on her forehead proving her mind was in motion.

Most likely, Les, Bobby, and Tank would be on alert, knowing something was different than usual, but only Tank would be bold enough to say something today. I shrugged and tried to make light of what I figured would happen. "Only Tank will push for details, and I can probably evade the questions for a day or two before he pulls the other two in as backup to force the story."

"Are you sure you don't want to go ahead and tell him?" she asked, not pushing but clearly making her point that if I was going to have to spill the beans, it didn't make sense to put it off.

In theory, I agreed with her, but if I could maintain the appearance that I was fine, when I did finally tell them how close of a call it was and try to explain my new physical limitations, they wouldn't make as big a deal out of it since I'd been pulling my weight for a few days already. I didn't mind them knowing about the post-exertion numbness, but I didn't want to talk about the loss of muscle tone as a result or the occasional balance struggles from sudden onset tingling when I pushed too much. "I need a day to adjust to being back and see how it feels to be around the guys after being gone for so long."

"All right, then I'll take care of Tank for you," she stated with determination. I can give you what's left of the morning without interruption, and we can have a late lunch together, but the afternoon may prove to be a little trickier."

"You don't have to do anything," I told her, although I was a little curious at what she had in mind.

"Leave the big guy to me, and you just worry about settling in downstairs," she said with confidence.

I had no idea what she was planning, but I nearly felt sorry for my second-in-command, and since it involved her, I knew she wouldn't disappoint.

One side benefit of being with Stephanie was that no one would question why I was traveling around in the building using the elevator instead of the stairs. Fortunately, no one knew just how much work she'd put into getting in shape so that at the moment, she was actually much more capable of handling the steps than I was. When the doors opened on the fifth floor, I still had an arm around her waist. I wasn't really feeling unstable, but I refused to stumble on my first steps across the main floor in front of my men, and I felt much more confident when I had her to counter my balance issues.

Some of the men who hadn't interrupted our gym time came over to greet us, slowing my progress across the floor. Still, I felt good about the front we presented, and between people telling me how good it was to have me back and trying to compliment Stephanie in a way they didn't think would piss me off, I was pretty sure no one suspected that I was anything less than a hundred percent.

She walked me to my desk and waited until I sat down before helping me get everything set up so I could stay put for a while. Then she took over, clicking away at my computer while bending over in front of me. The sight of her body spread out like that completely distracted me from the fact she was messing with my laptop. When she stood up, she was grinning, which had me slightly on edge.

"What did you do?"

After attempting to look innocent, she rolled her eyes and confessed, "I put in reminders for you to stretch every half hour. If you sit here reading for several hours without stopping to move, you'll be too stiff to walk out of here without needing a lot of help. If you really want to fly under the radar, then you need to stop every time a reminder pops up and move around the office some."

Despite her near constant presence in Germany over the last few weeks, I still couldn't get used to having someone caring for me in such thoughtful ways. She wasn't nagging, but she was helping me to take responsibility for my own pigheaded decision to try to hide this from men for a little longer.

It took us a while to say goodbye. Despite knowing she was going to be close enough that I could call out for her if I really needed something, it was still hard to let her go so that she wasn't with me.

"All right, Batman, I'm going to begin Operation Distract the Big Guy, and you need to get busy in here. When I get hungry, I'll come in and demand you feed me so that we can figure out what you need then. In the meantime, I'm just a phone call away."

As she walked out, I let my eyes stay on her the whole time so I didn't miss a single swing of her perfect hips. It was hard to have her leave, but I had to admit the view she gave me almost made up for it. Figuring I'd put it off as long as I responsibly could, I focused my attention on the screen in front of me and began to access the secured portion of the server where the business reports were housed.

I was only three paragraphs into the first narrative when I heard Stephanie's voice cutting through the wall.

"Tank, what in the hell happened in here? There's paper everywhere!"

I'd never heard her talk like that to the guys, especially not to Tank. His size granted him a certain amount of immunity to being yelled at, as self-preservation instincts tended to make people approach him with enough healthy fear to keep their voices calm in order to avoid pissing off the giant in front of them. It would figure that Stephanie would be resistant to such instincts and would barrel in where even angels would fear to tread. I listened intently as Tank tried to explain that he wasn't as fast as she was with the paperwork, and he didn't really understand her systems so he had to go back to doing it his way.

"Well, why didn't you say so?" she responded, as though it were his fault she'd fussed at him. "Point to the most important stack, and we'll tackle it together."

"Aren't you going to work on it at your desk like you did last time?" Tank asked, not sounding irritated at her presence, but channeling some obvious confusion.

"No," she replied calmly. "Obviously I didn't do you any favors by taking it away from you and returning it finished because I never explained how I did, what I did. So, we're going to do it together, but I'm going to show you how to do it in less than half the time."

There was some grumbling that was just low enough I couldn't make it out, but I could hear her encouraging him every so often, so I knew he'd admitted to himself that there was no way out of this mess except to work through it with her, forcing him to dutifully follow her directions.

Before I'd gotten any of my own work done, a pop-up screen appeared. When I clicked on the calendar reminder, it was telling me to move whatever I was working on to someplace more comfortable. That seemed like a good idea, so I stood up, happy that my legs still felt normal. Then I unplugged my laptop and walked to the couch against the wall, stretching my legs out in front of me to serve as a desk while I worked.

Thirty minutes later, I was being told to stand up for what I believed in, and a later reminder insisted I was a mover and a shaker. I guess I had been distracted by her ass in the air while she was setting these up, because I didn't even remember her typing. When the next one popped up, I realized I'd never smiled when I was working until today. Stephanie had brought about so many changes in my life that I couldn't begin to understand them all, but the most surprising was that she'd made me happier – not just when we were together, but in general; I was feeling the effects of her love and attention even when she wasn't around.

"I like that expression," she interrupted my thoughts to comment on my smile. Without asking for permission, she walked right over to me, took the laptop out of my hands, and plugged it back into the power supply at my desk. "How about lunch?"

"Sounds good," I assured her. "Where do you want to go?"

She looked a little surprised by my answer. "Do you want to leave the office?" she asked. "I figured you'd either want to eat here from the break room or go up to seven and have Ella bring something up."

"Either of those would work if you really want to stay around home," I told her. "But I think I'm ready to get out, and if we go somewhere close by, we might get the guys to join us."

"You want them to come?" Obviously my mixed signals were causing a short circuit in her understanding. "I thought you wanted to avoid them for a few days. If we all go to lunch together, they're going to hit you up for details."

I didn't need another reason to love Stephanie, but her comment certainly would have given me one. She wanted me to tell the core team, but she was trying to respect what I wanted and was helping me to understand that what I was proposing would blow any chance I had in keeping this from the guys.

"This amazing woman I know has helped me to understand that I might need a little extra support from my closest friends. If they don't know what's going on, they can't help me when I need it," I explained, forcing down the small voice in the back of my head yelling that I would regret showing weakness to my men. Nothing except good things had come from revealing the truth to Stephanie, so I was going to trust her instincts that were saying it would all be okay. I told her I trusted her, and it was time to start acting like that was true.

"Can we do Pino's?" she suggested, her eyes practically glazing over at the idea of getting some of her favorite food. This was probably the longest she'd gone without a meatball sub. If I hadn't already realized what a sacrifice she'd made to watch over me in Germany, that truth would have proven it.

Pino's wasn't a bad idea. Malone was still a factor, but even he probably wasn't foolish enough to attack in a restaurant full of cops. I could relax a little more with some of Trenton's finest providing security just with their presence alone.

Once I'd agreed to her choice for lunch, she had Bobby, Lester, and Tank rounded up and agreeing to meet us in the garage. Then she grabbed my hand, complaining about the stairs as she pulled me to the elevator to ride down. After the doors closed us in by ourselves, she spun around to face me, put her arms around my neck, and stretched up to whisper in my ear, "How are you doing?"

"At the moment, I'm great," I replied, tightening my arms around her to pull her even closer to me.

She laughed at my response but wasn't distracted that easily. "I meant, do I need to offer any extra support while we're out?"

"I don't think so," I replied, nuzzling her neck just below her ear and waiting for the shiver that always came when my warm breath brushed over that spot. "But I can think of a few things you can do when we get back that would be a big help."

"Really?" she replied as the doors opened.

Lester gave a loud whistle to pull us both back to the reality that we now had an audience. "Come on, man. You've had the girl for a while," he pretended to complain. "Give us a chance to spend some time with her, too."

"Santos," I growled back, nearly spitting out an invitation to join me on the mats for pushing his luck about Stephanie. That response was as much a habit as breathing was, and I knew that I couldn't support it with real sparring so I needed to find another way to make my point. I figured dealing with the lack of my full physical abilities would be hard enough, but going even further to stop some of my ingrained responses would be just as difficult.

Thirty minutes later, I had my back to the wall in the last booth at Pino's. Steph was sitting beside me, with Bobby and Lester across from us and Tank occupying a chair pulled up to the end of the table. Les had been regaling us with stories of a couple of Lula's takedowns, where she'd ended up covered in unidentifiable substances. Stephanie almost looked guilty about it but couldn't stop from laughing along with the rest of us, as Lester no doubt took some creative license in retelling what happened.

After the waitress took our order, Stephanie jumped up, mumbling about forgetting dessert, and ran after the girl she knew on a first name basis. It looked like it took her a long time just to request something else to eat. The gestures she was making didn't really seem to relate to food, either, but I couldn't stop myself from watching her anyway. She was a beautiful woman.

It was Tank's deep voice that pulled me back to the present when he asked, "Are you going to tell us how bad it was or let the suspense continue to build?"

"What makes you think something happened?" Despite my admission that I needed to tell these guys what about my injuries, I couldn't stop myself from the immediate defensive response.

I got three blank stares in return.

"You going to tell me it's coincidence that you and Steph came back together?" Tank asked drily.

Then Les picked it up and said, "With her sporting a new attitude that reminds me of a mama bear protecting her cubs."

"And despite how much fun it was to watch Steph actually working out this morning, you weren't doing your usual routine. Are we supposed to ignore that and pretend all is well?" Bobby finished the initial inquisition.

Stephanie sat down once again before I had a chance to respond.

"The guys are under the impression something happened to me and that you are acting like a mother bear and I'm not going through my usual workout routine."

"No wonder the paperwork was so high in your office," she said, turning to Tank first. "You don't have time to do any of it while also watching every monitor to see what Ranger and I have been up to."

Tank had the good sense to look a little embarrassed, but I also knew him well enough to know that he wasn't going to back down.

Lester took the spotlight from Tank with his usual flair. "If you don't want to share any details about what happened to you," he said, pointing to me before turning to stare at Stephanie, "then how about you tell us what happened to get you in a gym on a regular basis? Because girl, you are looking damn fine!"

Stephanie squeezed my hand – hard – under the table, stopping me from responding. Clearly she wanted to handle this on her own. "Maybe Ranger found a way to motivate me without having to resort to tricks or deceit."

His head went down marginally, and I almost caught some extra color in his cheeks. At least he had the good sense to look like he was a little embarrassed about forcing Steph to work out.

Before we could get into the subject at hand, the waitress returned with a plate piled high with cheese sticks arranged around a bowl of their marinara sauce. Stephanie's eyes lit up, and Lester's face fell. She picked one up, dipped it in the sauce, and took a huge bite before closing her eyes, leaning back, and moaning almost as much as she had this morning before we got out of bed.

When she opened her eyes, she quickly noticed we were all watching her. Instead of looking embarrassed like she usually did, she shrugged and picked up a knife to begin cutting a few of the sticks into smaller, bite-sized pieces. "You guys have to help me eat these," she said, not looking up while she continued to change the shape of most of the sticks.

Lester in particular was watching her closely, almost as if he sensed a setup but with an almost wistful look on his face as he saw her with his favorite food.

"All the time I spent out of Trenton, and this sauce is the food I missed the most. I swear I was dreaming of it at night."

I couldn't tell if she was bullshitting everybody to lull us into a false sense of security or if that was the more probable explanation for some of the noises she'd made in her sleep in Germany. All this time, I'd assumed her dreams were as erotic as mine, but it might just be that her love of food was as great as her love for that thing I could do with my tongue and finger between her—

"Here," she said, cutting through my thoughts before they got completely away from me. "You have to taste this."

In her fingers was a small bite of a cheese stick. She'd dipped into the sauce and was holding it in front of my mouth. I could feel the surprise of the guys when I opened my mouth and let her feed it to me. I rarely ate fried food, especially something like this, but I could see that she really wanted me to play along. Apparently, all my former rules were null and void when it came to the woman beside me.

Tank was the first to cave and picked up one of the sticks still whole, shoving it into his mouth in a single bite. Bobby picked up a couple of the smaller pieces and popped them in. But Lester played right into her hand by taking a small piece, dipping it into the sauce, and slowly chewing it – savoring his favorite food. She waited until he let out a small sigh, not a full moan like she would have, but still a sound of satisfaction. Then she picked up a full stick and held it in the air as a prop.

"Thanks for sharing these with me. I cut up some because I know there are guys out there who aren't secure enough to admit to enjoying the feel of putting a big stick in their mouth." She took a bite before continuing. "Les, it's so nice to be around someone who understands good food and is secure enough to admit they love the feel of popping a ball in their mouth and sucking the sauce off it before rolling it around on their tongue, savoring the texture and taste, and then finally swallowing it whole."

"Shit," Tank interrupted. "When she puts it like that, I think you should go back to moaning after putting a stick in your mouth. It didn't seem nearly as…dirty as you liking to eat balls."

Les pushed his plate away and allowed his head to fall onto the table in front of him.

Stephanie reached across, ran her fingers through his spiky hair, and said, "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me."

"You, I trust," he spoke without lifting his face up. "But these three yahoos will be telling this story to anybody who will listen."

"No, they won't," she disagreed.

I hated to argue with my woman, but I was looking forward to telling some people about how she'd set him up.

Les lifted his face just enough to look her in the eye. "They won't?" It obviously sounded too good to be true for him, as well.

She shook her head no. "No, they won't. It will be our little secret. Just like you guys aren't going to pick on Tank for him flubbing up the payroll system I put in place or tease Bobby for putting the wrong covers on the PT table in the gym."

"How did you know?" Bobby asked but then stopped short when he realized he'd just confirmed what she'd said.

"Know what?" She looked him straight in the eye, showing no weakness. "That you somehow ended up with the thin paper covers like what a doctor would use to cover an exam table instead of ones with more weight and the ability to handle a body that is covered in sweat after a workout? You do realize that if one of the guys lies on that table, the paper is going to stick to them and leave them looking like they were attacked by someone with a razor, leaving little nicks and scrapes all over their body."

"When did you learn about PT tables and the right kind of covers?" Bobby pushed, both impressed with her knowledge and a little embarrassed at being caught without the right supplies on hand.

"I see more than I'm given credit for," she replied, not really answering his question.

Then she looked up to me, obviously giving me a perfect opening to share if I still wanted to. The stage had been set, with her pointing out that we all had things we didn't want the rest of the guys at RangeMan to hear about, but reminding us all that this small group had each other's backs. We understood the sanctity of holding each other's secrets beyond the five of us, and even while picking on Lester, she'd reminded us all of that and given me the right setup to tell them my own secret.

Before Bobby had a chance to respond, I cleared my throat, drawing all the attention back to me. These men had served with me the longest, and they all knew that sound was never followed by good news. Lester snapped back to sit up straight, Tank glanced around as though securing the area we were sitting, and Bobby leaned forward, ready to hear every word and not wanting to miss a single detail. But it was Stephanie's soft fingers on my hand that gave me the strength I needed to start talking.

_**Stephanie's POV**_

"My mission was a success, but before I get to my extraction point, I was taken out with a bomb and nearly died. For nearly two months, I was in a military hospital in Germany, recovering from my initial injuries. The last few weeks, I've been going through some intensive physical therapy to learn how to handle the nerve damage that I've been left with. Stephanie joined me when Hector got her out of Trenton and has been by my side through every step of the process."

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my emotions in check as Ranger gave the guys details on his injury, reliving the story for them and obviously experiencing some of the pain again himself. He answered all of Bobby's questions about the injuries themselves, virtually quoting the doctor or Maxwell verbatim.

Finally, after all the technical concerns had been addressed, Tank asked, "So where does that leave you on the streets?"

Knowing that was the heart of Ranger's greatest fear, I squeezed his hand, wishing there was a way to give him the strength he needed to get through this.

"I don't know yet," he replied, not backing down at all. "Obviously, I'm not an invalid, but I'm not my old self, either."

"You still know which end of a gun to aim with?" Tank asked, not seeming concerned at all about what Ranger had told him.

"Brain is fine," Ranger sniped in return. "It's just my legs that aren't as dependable as they once were."

"Hell, man, we ain't running the postal service," Tank bit back. "The dependability of your schedule ain't what matters. It's who's still standing at the end of the day."

"That's the problem," Ranger summed it up. "On any given day, I can't guarantee whether or not I'll be standing solid."

"When have you ever gone into the streets around here alone?" Tank pushed, leveling Ranger with a look that made me wonder if I'd lost my mind this morning, yelling at him. "It don't matter if you're standing solid or not. You'll be with us, and you damn well better not be telling me you think we'd let you fall."

There was a pregnant pause, where I prayed somebody would say something. The tension was growing thick, and I was struggling to keep from crying at the obvious support Ranger was getting from his men. It was exactly the response I'd hoped they'd give, but wishing for it and seeing their loyalty lived out in front of me were two different things, and I knew the tears were going to start falling soon if somebody didn't diffuse the mood.

"You volunteering for extra duty?" Ranger asked, his voice lacking any aggression.

"Nah..." Tank grinned as he drew out his response. "There's this curly-haired woman in the office that has been making my life so much easier lately that I seem to have some free time on my hands. In an effort to keep my job and be sure the boss thinks of me as his right hand man, I've got to find ways to earn my keep. This sounds like something right up my alley."

Lester could see where Tank was taking this and jumped in. "Besides, it will be fun to finally get to be the first one in a situation. Our boss used to be such a damn control freak, he insisted on being the only one getting any fun and made us stand there watching him take the world on single-handedly. It might be nice to try fighting by his side instead of being forced to the back of the line."

Ranger shook his head, unable to respond, either because the guys were making it abundantly clear they had his back so there was no point in arguing about it or because he was as touched by their loyalty as I was.

"Sometimes I wonder why I put up with you three," Ranger finally replied with a hint of a smile on his face.

"Yeah, but then you realized you can't find a better-looking bunch of guys to roll with, so you associate with us to improve your image," Les teased.

"No, I do it because Steph said I can't fire you because she likes having someone else who makes noise when they eat," Ranger replied, causing about three seconds of silence before all four of them busted out laughing.

Lester's head went back to the table, Tank held up his fist for Ranger to bump it, and Bobby wiped tears off his face from laughing so hard. This might not have been the group bonding moment a psychiatrist would have suggested, but it clearly worked for them. And seeing them support each other without hesitation, I was proud to be a part of this moment and this group of guys.


	21. Defining Heroes

_JE created the characters below and I'm having a field day with them._

_Jenny (JenRar) thank you so much for your fast and thorough beta magic. This story is so much stronger because you've worked on it._

**Chapter 21 – Defining Heroes**

_**Stephanie's POV**_

By the end of the week, things were beginning to feel settled around the office. I was basically working as an administrative assistant to Tank and Ranger, keeping them organized and on top of the necessary paperwork and client needs. It wasn't a position we'd discussed, but the guys were beginning to come to me for small requests, and the control room was starting to patch client calls through to me to soothe the complaints before the really stubborn ones had to be elevated to Tank or Ranger instead.

"Stephanie," Ranger called out from his office, making me cringe at hearing him use all three syllables of my name, as though I were in trouble with the principal.

"You rang," I teased when I walked in his office. The look on his face told me he was struggling today and in need of some cover to get away from his desk without all the guys on the floor knowing what was going on. "Upstairs, or the gym?" I asked, unsure of whether he needed to work through what was going on in his back or legs, or just hide from it for a while.

He ran his hand over his face for a minute, as though he didn't know which would be better. "Gym," he finally admitted, giving me a little relief. If he wanted to get to the gym then he must be cramping, so the movement might be helpful. If he'd said upstairs, then I'd know he was dealing with numbness or tingling that was growing to the point of being distracting. This was definitely the better of the two possibilities.

I walked over and held out my hand, letting him decide how he wanted to use me to move through to the elevator. He put his hand on my shoulder, which was telling. Usually, he hid by pulling me to his side. It kept our movement more natural-looking but didn't offer quite as much support as leaning against my shoulder would.

Fortunately, no one paid any attention to us when we walked to the elevator, allowing us to make a smooth getaway without interruption. He changed into some shorts in the locker room and came out bare-chested and making it much harder for me to remember why we were down here with all the cameras monitoring our every move.

We hopped up on neighboring treadmills for a while, with me mirroring his speed and distance. Finally, he got down and looked at the massage table. So far, I'd been keeping up his massages upstairs on the bed. It wasn't ideal, as the mattress was soft, meaning me being on top of him stretched his spine some, but it was better than nothing, and in his mind, it certainly beat having all the guys watching us. This time, though, his eyes stayed on the table long enough that I couldn't help but offer him an alternative.

"Why don't we see what it's like? I'll try standing beside you instead of mounting you, and maybe it will be enough."

He made a low sound in his throat and replied, "Babe, if you keep talking about mounting me, I'm going to say screw the massage and take you upstairs."

Ten minutes later, it was becoming clear that I couldn't get the leverage necessary. Without thinking, I just jumped on Ranger's back and began to dig in, finally getting the sounds from him that I knew meant we were getting somewhere. I had my elbow right in the middle of a particularly stubborn knot when the door burst open, and Bobby stood there looking at me as though I'd lost my mind.

"What's going on?" he asked, probably filtering more words so that only that question came out.

Without moving from my spot, I replied, "Just getting a little knot out," trying to make it sound as though it were no big deal.

Bobby came over and watched me for a while, which made me a little nervous, but because I could feel the evidence under me of how much Ranger needed this, I didn't stop what I was doing. Finally, Bobby spoke up and put my mind at ease to say, "You've been well taught, Bomber."

I couldn't stop the grin on my face at his praise. "Thanks," I replied, failing in my attempt to keep my appreciation for his comment from coming through so clearly.

"Do you need any help?" he offered lightly, not pushing to take over at all.

"I've got this," I told him, relieved when he nodded that he agreed and then backed out to leave us alone. Within twenty minutes, I'd finished and could feel the difference in how much looser he was under my hands.

Ranger thanked me for helping him and waited for me to hop down before moving to slowly get off the table.

Once he'd stood, I waited for a few minutes and then asked, "Better?"

He moved his head from side to side, as though that were an answer, before replying, "The pain's gone, but it's not exactly normal, either."

"Still," I started, trying to frame it a little more positively, "it's movement in the right direction."

He left to shower and promised to return to the main floor after stretching out upstairs for a while. I decided to give him a little space and went back to my cubicle. Once I sat down, I pulled out Maxwell's email address and composed a quick note, telling him about what had just happened and asking if it fit within what he thought was normal for where Ranger should be at this point.

Before I finished, I heard Binkie and Ram trying to decide who would go down to Hector's office to get a couple of wires for a surveillance shift they needed to work. Apparently, neither of them wanted to do it because Hector had been much more intense than normal since we returned from Germany. The guys just saw it as an increase in whatever vibe he usually gave off, but I knew he was hurting over having to leave Maxwell.

Thinking about Hector in his lonely office with no one aware of what he'd been through irritated me, so I started a new paragraph in my email and told Maxwell how Hector was acting. I told him if he wanted to be somewhere that he could do the most good, then he'd get his ass to Trenton to help the man he'd at least pretended to care for while we were there.

After I hit send, I felt better. I'd sent a couple of update notes to Maxwell since we'd returned and had gotten fast responses back. It was enough to let me know he'd gotten my notes and read them, but not enough to let me know if the unloading I'd just done about Hector was going to be well received or not. There was no way to take it back, though, so I decided to forget about it and toss it out as a wish that something good could come from it, but not getting my hopes up that anything would happen.

By the end of the work day, Ranger had come back down and spent a few hours in his office, finishing off the contracts I had started for him. When he brought them to me, fully signed and initialed, I put them in my to-be-mailed stack and asked what he wanted to do for dinner. I hadn't intended it to be a trick question, but he looked across the cubicles and narrowed his eyes before saying, "Why don't we head out to Shorty's and see if some of the yahoos around here want to come, too?"

I didn't even get to reply before Lester stood up and asked, "Are you buying pizza and beer, or just pizza?"

Ranger shook his head and answered, "Pizza and the first round. After that, you're on your own."

Les turned around and yelled out, "Dinner on the boss, but anything after you first get wet means you should bring your own wallet."

Before I could even respond, the men were gathering and growing louder by the minute. "How often do you do this?" I finally asked through the noise.

He shrugged. "Maybe once or twice a year."

"What made you decide to do it today?" I couldn't stop myself from asking.

"You like going out with the guys," he replied, as though that somehow related to what I'd asked. When I didn't respond, he added, "You've been focused on me since this happened, and I realized that it was about time somebody focused on you for a little while. The guys love being around you and will make this a fun night, where neither of us has to think about muscle spasms or tingling legs. After this morning, I could use a little break from the constant medical questions."

He was dangerously close to rambling, which I found endearing, but I knew it was driving him crazy so I stood up, framed his face with my hands, and kissed him to quiet his attempts at explaining. When I pulled back, I whispered, "Thank you," and then took his hand in mine to go to the elevator.

We were one of the last vehicles to leave the garage, which ensured the party would be in full force when we arrived. I hoped they saved us a seat and some pizza. Although it was probably an unfounded fear because I knew Ranger would always buy more if I even hinted there was something like that I wanted. He was unbelievable generous without even trying to be. If there was anything that he thought I needed or even wanted, it tended to magically appear without comment. I figured another pizza from Shorty's kitchen would be a pretty easy request to fulfill.

Three hours later, the guys were twice as loud, and Ranger had definitely covered more than just the first round of drinks. I'd probably learned enough embarrassing stories on each of the guys that I could stop them from teasing me anymore about my less-than-graceful bounty hunting moments. But once they switched from work-related stories to one involving women, I figured it was probably time for me to leave. Besides, it was getting late, and I wanted some time alone with Ranger, so I looked at him, and he nodded before standing, proving the man could read minds, even though he swore he couldn't.

Once the guys realized we were leaving, a few of them decided to call it a night. We walked out with Tank, Vince, and Hector and moved to the back of the lot, where all the identical trucks were parked in a row. Tank and Vince split off to get in their vehicle next to ours, with Hector just disappearing into the night, showing off his well-hidden ninja skills.

One would think that after the amount of time I'd spent around the guys at RangeMan, I would stay prepared for anything, but a night like this one had caused me to let my guard down briefly. The only warning we had that something was about to happen was the sound of the side door of a van opening in front of us and a small amount of noise coming from behind us.

Before I could begin to think through what was going on, a group of guys dressed in black were rushing toward me. One of them was holding a gun pointed in my general direction, but Ranger shot him first, followed by three well-placed hits on the men behind the gunmen. Once the dust settled and we were looking at the scene in front of us, a small reflection behind our truck caught my attention. When I saw that it was one final guy coming out of the darkness, I got pissed off. All I'd wanted was a simple night out with my friends. Even after being out of the country and not picking up skips for two months, I still seemed to be a magnet for trouble. It was that infuriated line of thinking that caused me to respond when the guy trying to sneak up on us raised his gun and aimed, not at me, but at Vince. Threatening me made me angry, but threatening one of my friends made me livid.

"Vince!" I screamed his name in time for him to move out of the way. Then I took two fast steps toward the gunman, obviously catching him off guard, as he wasn't prepared for anyone to risk getting shot by rushing him. Before he could react, I lifted my leg and caught him right in the balls and then followed it up with a perfectly-placed kick in the chest, knocking him off his feet and causing him to drop his gun all at one time.

Tank was there when the man hit the asphalt and rolled him over, securing him in cuffs, despite his screams that the crazy woman had nearly killed him. I usually took offense at being called crazy, but I'd come to accept that when somebody tried to hurt one of my friends, crazy was the least of what I was capable of.

Hector was leaning over one of the men Ranger had taken down. I couldn't tell what he was saying, but the man on the ground was clearly frightened. Vince joined Hector in securing the bleeding guys and grabbed one of them, yanking him by the collar.

I recognized the guy as Malone, the crazy bookie that had it out for me. Honestly, how stupid could you be? I knew he wanted to avoid being brought in, but why not just hide? Why risk exactly what happened by attempting a full-fledged attack on me while I was surrounded by guys from RangeMan? The only mystery remaining was how he'd managed to stay hidden so long while I was out of the country.

Based on the sirens in the distance, the blue and whites were approaching. Before they got to the scene, a black town car pulled up, and then two rather large men in dark suits climbed out and came our way. Vince stood up and honestly rolled his eyes as the men, who looked like they'd stepped off a sound stage from a mafia movie, approached.

"Mr. Portici," the first suited guy said with a slight tilt of his head.

Vince seemed confused when the guy passed by him and approached me instead. Ranger came over to stand right behind me and put his hand on my hip, pulling me against him. He was on high alert, but not necessarily because of the man coming over to us.

"Ms. Plum, Mr. Portici would like to thank you for your service," he announced, as though that would mean something to me.

Vince came over to offer his translation services. "My dad wants to talk to you. Probably to thank you for saving my life."

"I didn't do anything," I argued, thinking this was an over-the-top reaction to me attacking a guy's manhood.

"That's not the way we saw it from across the street." His beefy thumb lifted as he pointed to a vacant lot, where they'd apparently seen most of what happened.

I wanted to ask that if they'd seen everything, why didn't they bother to come over and help out, but I figured insulting a powerful man like Vince's dad was probably not a good idea. I may not understand the comings and goings of how they operated, but I _was_ part Italian.

"You may as well go ahead because he won't leave until you do." Vince seemed amused instead of irritated as he spoke what he knew to be true.

"What? He'll make me an offer I can't refuse?" I tried to tease by misquoting the _Godfather._

"No," the muscle in front of us answered. "I'm the one that makes the offers; Mr. Portici just gives the orders."

I was unsure how to respond to that, but when the suited man and Vince both started laughing, I figured they were used to mob humor and had learned to joke about it.

"I'll take her," Vince said, looking at Ranger and basically asking for permission to accompany me twenty feet to the car with the tinted windows.

Ranger gave a barely discernable nod and let go of my hip. "I'll be right here," he whispered.

Vince walked us up to the car that was waiting for us and opened the back door. "Hey, Pop," he said causally, as though this were just any old Italian man instead of one of the most powerful mob leaders in the country.

"Vincent," he replied with affection apparent in just that single word. I'd always envied people whose parents obviously understood them.

"Pop," Vince said, getting his attention once more and putting a hand on my back to bring the focus back to me, "this is Stephanie Plum, the woman I told you about."

"Ms. Plum." Mr. Portici acknowledged me and then moved to step out of the car.

When he made his intention to get out into the open, the man who had been behind the wheel also got out and buttoned his suit jacket, as though the appropriate closure of his coat would somehow stop a bullet if one came our way.

Vince's father took my hand and held it between both of his. "Ms. Plum, I owe you a great debt on many levels, but today, especially so."

"Mr. Portici," I attempted to object.

He held his hand up, and I had a feeling he was a man used to being obeyed, so I stopped talking immediately.

"Do you know what my family means to me?" he asked, although it was a rhetorical question. "My youngest son has always walked his own way, but until he met you, he never thought it was possible to be a defender of honor and a member of my family. Somehow, you helped him to reconcile all of who he was, which makes you very important in my eyes. But tonight, I saw the opportunity to meet you and came over while I was in the neighborhood, just in time to see someone threaten my son and you save his life. While I admire your humility, the facts are clearly on my side."

Then he released my hand and kissed both of my cheeks. "The Portici family will protect you should you ever need our help. We owe you a debt for saving the best of our family."

I put my hand on Vince's arm and said, "Mr. Portici, we consider Vince to be the best in our family, as well."

He placed his hand over his heart and then turned to look at his son, who towered nearly five inches over his father. "You couldn't find a nice girl like this to settle down with? Have a few babies of your own, and then see how worry for them turns you into an old man well before your time. Mr. Bertucci has seven boys and still has all his hair. I've never heard him tell me about any of his children being shot at."

Vince winked at me and made a few conciliatory remarks as his father climbed back into his car and pulled away. We both stood there look over the part of the lot where his dad had just been.

I chuckled. "So if you ever get homesick and need a little guilt to make you feel loved, feel free to come home with me, and I'll let my mother nag at you a little."

He bumped my shoulder with his and said, "Come on. The boss will have my ass if I keep you over here too long."

We returned to the circle and were approached by the cops there needing to get our statements. By the time they were done, all of RangeMan had come out of Shorty's, and I felt perfectly safe surrounded by a sea of men in black.

"You ready to head back?" Ranger asked, speaking softy in my ear.

My nod was all he needed to keep his hand on my hip and guide me to the SUV we'd attempted to get in before all the trouble erupted. We got in, but he didn't start the truck immediately. Enough time passed that I started to worry he was suffering from the stress of what happened on top of an already unusual day for his symptoms.

"Is everything okay?"

"That bastard was going to shoot you," he offered as an explanation for his strange behavior.

"But he didn't," I reminded him. "You didn't let him."

"I'd have put myself in front of the bullet before I'd let someone hurt you," he said with a tone that was part pledge, part realization.

"I never doubted that," I agreed, hating the idea of him really doing it but knowing him well enough to trust that there would be no way to stop it. "Take me home so I can spend a little time personally thanking my hero."

He let out a fast dry laugh at that and started the truck. "I'm no hero, Babe."

"That's funny... I'm still breathing, and since I saw you stop the man who was after me, it seems you saved my life. You'll have to excuse me if the facts are on my side and I refuse to call you anything other than that." Comfortable silence filled the car, and then I added, "Or are you just debating semantics here? Would you rather I call you a life saving bad-ass? Maybe a sharp-shooting savior? Or...I could just call you Batman." I was determined to keep rambling until he smiled and my diligence paid off.

"Just Ranger will do," he finally said, putting an end to my nicknames.

_**Ranger's POV**_

Only Stephanie could be the target of a hit man and come off with a major mob boss in her debt and trying to make me smile by calling me ridiculous names. I loved that she thought of me as a hero. While I included a lot more noble qualities in that term than just a quick trigger finger, I had to admit that I was glad to have been the one that put an end to Malone stalking her.

There were plenty of able-bodied men I would have completely entrusted her safety to in that parking lot, but when the rubber met the road, I was the one who'd reacted in time to keep her from harm. Not once had my legs been an issue. I wasn't foolish enough to think that I could go into every fight shooting a gun, but I knew that despite all that my body had been through, when the fight or flight instinct should have engaged, my body and mind cleared of everything except my years of training in how to eliminate a threat, and I'd done what had to be done.

The irony was hard to deny. Me, the physical training expert, had used my gun to put an end to the danger on my side of the truck, and Stephanie, the woman with virtually no training, had physically attacked and taken down the final assailant. If I were honest about it, I'd say she'd taken him down and looked damn hot while doing it.

I remembered watching Maxwell work with her briefly in the gym while I was going through my skill drills. He was trying to show her the new process I was learning to center my balance and use momentum to provide strength for my kicks, instead of using speed to provide balance and using both legs to supply the muscle. She had been practicing slow speed drills to figure out what I was doing, and while I thought it was cute to see her concentrating so hard, I didn't think it was something she'd ever use.

So when she'd started running into the face of danger, I'd panicked because she'd taken away my ability to get a clean shot. Before I could yell for someone to do something, she'd used her newfound skills to hit him in that single soft spot all men share and then driven her whole foot into his chest, effectively eliminating the threat single-handedly.

"You know, if you're trying to classify me as hero, you would need to share in that title," I said, attempting to flip her argument around.

"I didn't do anything major," she argued, obviously not seeing the truth of what happened this evening.

"I think Vince and his father would disagree with that," I reminded her. The Porticis weren't known for including people under their cloak of protection, so she was a member of a very small group that had each earned that privilege by saving the life of someone held dear to the head of the family.

She didn't say anything, but I could feel her discomfort with the idea that she'd done something heroic.

"Of course, if you want to argue semantics, I could refer to you as a boxing babe. Maybe you'd prefer a power-packing puncher? How about a side-kicking savior?"

"All right," she interrupted. "You win. Just please don't ever use one of those names around the guys. I never thought I'd see the day when I'd prefer Bomber over any other options."

After I put the truck in park, she put her hand on my leg and asked, "Are you okay?"

I wasn't sure how she meant the question. Was she curious if the time standing around had made me uncomfortable, or did she think I was struggling because of the near miss on her life? No matter how I looked at her intention, I came to the same conclusion, so I spun her question on her and asked, "Are you alive and with me?"

"You know I am," she assured me.

"Then I'm okay," I promised, finally realizing how true it was.

I couldn't guarantee safety for either of us. I couldn't predict when my legs were going to feel strange, or when pain might force me to altar my activities. But I could predict that as long as I had Stephanie by my side, whatever uncertainties came my way, I could handle them.


	22. All's Well That Ends Well

_JE created the characters below, and then I ran off with them to have some fun._

_Jenny (JenRar), you've gotten me to the end of another story. Thank you for working so hard as the beta on this journey, and for your notes of encouragement as you read each update the first time. These notes don't do your work justice, but I have to at least try to show you how much I appreciate and enjoy working with you._

**Chapter 22 – All's Well That Ends Well **

_**Ranger's POV**_

"Stephanie," I called out from my office, smiling because I knew when she came around the corner, she'd be scowling at me for screaming out her full name like she was in trouble at school. When she didn't come to me, I got up and walked to the cubicle right outside my door, only to find her seat empty and her computer off.

Hector was walking by, so I stopped him and asked if he knew where Stephanie was. He looked down at his watch and replied, "Still at the VA with Max."

I double checked the time and saw it was only eleven. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, she went with Hector's partner Maxwell to the VA where he worked, in order to see the guys, provide some massages, or visit with the patients most in need of a little extra attention and support. They usually came back after lunch, laughing over something she'd said or done that would no doubt be the main topic of discussion for any of the men in the general vicinity that day. Despite her usual aversion to being the center of attention, she understood that she was there only in part for the physical assistance she offered, but the majority of what she provided was emotional. She gave those injured soldiers a piece of life outside the hospital walls. Sometimes by being funny, sometimes by being a tease, but always with the sincerity she brought with her every time she said hello or asked someone how they were doing. It was an ideal job for her, and she did it for free, volunteering her time in the hope that she might make a small difference to someone.

After the threat with Malone had been eliminated, she'd started spending some extra time with Hector and helped me to see that the man who had always been quiet was damn near silent now and was isolating himself in the electronics cave downstairs. She was the only one brave enough to venture down there regularly and the only one he'd tolerate staying for more than a simple question or equipment request. She'd woken up one morning, checked her email, and then begun bouncing with enough excitement that I knew something was going on. I'd asked a few times, and she'd told me she did have a secret, but that she couldn't tell me yet, and I'd have to wait to see what she was planning. She had promised me there was no chance it was dangerous, and she thought I'd approve because it would make Hector happy.

I owed a huge debt to Hector for all he did for Stephanie while I was in the hospital, so I'd let Stephanie have her secret, especially since she'd been convinced it would be good for him. Three hours later, a man that I thought I'd never see again had walked into my office.

"Are you just going to sit there, or are you going to get over here and shake my hand?" Maxwell had asked with a practically giddy Stephanie grinning at his side.

We'd talked for a few minutes, and he'd told me he was going to be in the gym in the morning, where he expected me to let him put me through my paces to be sure I was still holding up like he'd prepared me. Then Steph had grabbed his hand and pulled him to the elevator, no doubt to surprise the man who was brooding alone.

Even now, I couldn't help but appreciate the fact that she'd brought him up to see me first. He'd obviously been Hector's surprise, not mine, but she'd known I would be curious what she'd had up her sleeve, and knowing what she'd managed to pull off still made me proud of her. At that point, I'd hoped he would stay for long enough that Hector would come back to us and out of his period of exile because I wasn't sure what would happen when Maxwell returned to Germany and Hector was left behind once more.

Underestimating Stephanie's skills of persuasion was always a mistake, so I should have known she wouldn't have gotten Maxwell here just for him to turn around and leave once more. He'd come with a job offer from the local VA, which had an acute orthopedic care center that was desperate for a top-notch physical therapist to help the men who felt they'd been injured beyond all hope of a normal life. Apparently, the only thing he hadn't had was a place to live, and Steph had all but promised that was a problem he didn't need to worry about.

The next morning, I hadn't seen Maxwell in the gym, which had surprised me, but not Stephanie. Three days later, he'd managed to show himself once more, and the matching grin on Hector's face had told me their time in seclusion had been well spent. I'd never asked what was going on, but when the huge boxes containing all of Maxwell's belongings had arrived from Germany, Hector had personally overseen them being delivered to his apartment. That had definitely solved the mystery of why he hadn't needed to worry about a place to live.

In the time that had passed since Maxwell first showed up, he and Hector were as much an accepted couple as Steph and I were. It was never an issue or a question. I wasn't sure if that was because any idiot could see how happy they were together, or because despite the definite mellowing in our electronics expect, Hector still scared more than a few of the guys on staff.

Maxwell had called in a favor Steph had promised him for moving here and had recruited her to accompany him to the VA one day when he had a near impossible case of a soldier who had lost one of his legs and hadn't spoken since he'd been transferred to back to the States. Everything he'd tried had failed, and Maxwell knew that if he couldn't get this guy to buy into life, that he wouldn't accomplish anything in therapy. Stephanie had agreed to see him but wasn't sure what she could do to make a difference. Of course, by the time her morning with the soldier had ended, not only was he talking, but he'd agreed to work with Maxwell to see if there wasn't still some life in his body that could be lived. After that initial visit, anytime he had a difficult case, he'd call Steph in for a consult, and before long, the patients were requesting her specifically, so she'd formalized her schedule and now volunteered twice a week, with an occasional visit over the weekend if a special case warranted it.

Bobby had pulled Maxwell in for a consult when a couple of the guys around RangeMan had been hurt and had been open to learning all he could once he realized this was the man responsible for my near miraculous recovery.

I hadn't actually hired him, but he was a part of RangeMan, fully accepted by all the guys, so seeing him in the gym each morning going through his own workout, occasionally talking to the guys to offer suggestions or corrections in something they were doing wasn't questioned. I had to admit it was nice to know that the muscle strains and pulls that used to be the majority of what Bobby looked at were reducing at a noticeable rate since Maxwell had been with us.

Of course, once the guys realized Steph had been a part of my treatment plan, they all hassled her about giving them massages. She would occasionally work someone over on the table in the gym, but I knew I was the only one she mounted and worked on while straddling my waist. I hadn't called anyone to the mats since I'd gotten back, but the men still knew I wouldn't tolerate them asking her to climb on top of them and that respect for her held them back from something I had no doubt they all wished they could have.

One of the newest hires had deviated from a direct order I'd given in the field, and I'd fired him on the spot. I couldn't punish him the way I used to, but Stephanie was right about that being an effective way to make my expectations known. They would either fall in line or fall out of the company, and my ability to beat them on the mats wasn't going to change that. Along the way, I'd realized the guys did respect me, and they followed me out of trust and a belief that I was qualified to lead them. Other than the one guy, I hadn't had another person attempt to push me.

While I'd never called an all-staff meeting and announced that my legs weren't as strong as they once were, I knew that all the men were aware. They never insulted me by insinuating that I wasn't able to perform the tasks I used to, but I had noticed they tended to put themselves between me and most of the dangers our life seemed to draw out. At first, I was going to order them to stand down, but Tank had pulled me aside one day and told me about the street's impression of this new way of surrounding me.

According to Tank, word on Stark was that I came back from this last mission much harder than I'd ever been. I was violent and much easier to set off. They pointed to the fact that I'd shot four people in Shorty's parking lot without asking questions or even throwing a fist first to stop whatever was happening. The consensus was that I was even more dangerous than before, so RangeMan kept extra guys with me to hold me back from doing something that would bring bad press to the company. My street cred was actually increasing instead of diminishing. I wasn't foolish enough to think it would last forever. With age would come a challenge that I wouldn't be able to meet, but until then, I still enjoyed the look of fear when the punks crossed to the other side of the street when I walked by. I'd learned the hard way that life was short, so I was determined to get my kicks where I could.

Life with Stephanie was more than I'd ever imagined possible. She was my partner in every sense of the word. Not only did she help me to manage my symptoms when I pushed too much, but she helped me run RangeMan, too. Without ever officially qualifying her job, she ran most of the office operations, set schedules, and handled the HR and administrative tasks that used to plague Tank and me both to get finished. Somehow, she managed to complete everything in much less time than we ever could, and her attention to detail picked up on the little mistakes I most likely wouldn't have noticed. Despite adding her as a full-time member of the staff, her changes and efficiencies around the organization began to make a difference in the bottom line. And starting the first day I took her with me on a sales call, the revenues began to climb, as well. While it might be tempting in many businesses to snicker and make comments about the boss's woman helping to run the business, it was never an issue here. She had more than proven herself in the eyes of every man here, and they regularly came to her with questions and requests for her help.

Somehow, our being together had pulled the men around us together, and the meals at Shorty's went to monthly, and then bi-weekly. It was impossible to say exactly what had happened to cause it, but my gut told me whatever it was could be attributed to Stephanie's presence among us and was a good thing, so I'd learned to stop questioning it.

When Binkie's contract was called and he'd had to report for a short mission, Steph had invited him up to seven for dinner with us. I could see the concern on his face and pulled him into my office in the apartment to talk. It turned out he was worried about the mission because he felt the intel he'd been given was incomplete. I made a few calls while he was there, and we managed to uncover the fact that there were more interested parties in the mission he'd been tapped for; after leaning on a few of them, I was able to give Binkie the full background of his target. Without that information, he would have walked into a huge mess, but with it, he came back home ten days later without so much as a scratch.

He'd nodded his head at me when he stepped off the elevator upon return, but when Steph approached him, he'd pulled her into his arms for an extended hug. I hadn't begrudged him wanting to show his appreciation. She'd been the one who'd felt like something was off with Binkie in the first place and invited him up to talk to us in the hope of helping him in some small way. I might have been the one to hand him the details to stay safe, but she was the one that had recognized there was problem. Once again, her instincts had saved one of us.

From time to time, she would ride with Lula to pick up a skip, but she didn't consider bounty hunting to be her full-time profession anymore. I'd never asked her to stop, but she said between RangeMan, the VA, and the guys here, her days were more than full enough, and she wanted to be sure her nights were free to spend with me. I wouldn't have fought her on wanting to do something she felt was important, but I had to admit that knowing I was at the top of her list of priorities did swell my chest with pride for a while. And the fact that I didn't have to worry as much about her safety probably helped us both to enjoy our nights together, as well.

She had an uncanny ability to recognize when my legs felt off and made herself available to me for a cover in public and around the office. She always managed to be where I needed her to be and made it seem natural and in no way a result of my legs. In our apartment, she wouldn't hesitate to call me on doing too much and challenge me to back off when necessary, but she never voiced her opinion like that in front of the men. They followed her example, though, and on days when she was extra attentive, I found myself with an extra shadow or two whenever I left the office. I'd asked her one day if she'd told the guys to follow me, and she'd taken offense at the question. Of course, she'd never really answered the question, either, which had left me wondering exactly what the truth was. Still, I had stopped questioning it and just realized how lucky I was to have the quiet support I had.

Her family had accepted us – eventually. Her father had seemed fine the first time I accompanied her to dinner, but I think anyone would have gotten the same response from him as long as they didn't stand in front of his television or cause the roast to dry out. Her mother wasn't initially as welcoming as her grandmother had been, but then, I didn't think I could handle two women attempting to pinch my ass every time I walked in the house. Eventually, her mother came around when I'd told her that I'd be with Stephanie to my dying day and that if Stephanie wanted to get married, I'd gladly get her a ring.

I was in the dog house for a few hours over that comment, as Stephanie wasn't convinced she wanted to get married, so Helen had focused all her attention on trying to talk her daughter into snatching me up before I decided to take back my generous offer. The idea of reducing marriage to a deal brokered in a back room had put Stephanie off, and she'd finally shut her mother up by stating in no uncertain terms that if she so much as mentioned marriage to her again, we'd move to Miami and not give her a forwarding address.

Once her mother had stopped harping on it, I'd caught Stephanie looking at diamonds when we'd gone on a call at a jewelry store that had been a client for a number of years. While I was talking systems and response times, she was getting educated on how to tell a quality diamond. I wasn't completely sure, but my heart told me there was a look of longing in her eye when we finally walked out, so that night, I'd reached into my safe and brought out the ring I'd had made for her before we'd even had the possibility of a future. When I'd asked her to be mine, the tears in her eyes had made them sparkle much more than the diamond that I knew was of impeccable quality. We'd celebrated most of the night, and the next morning, she'd surprised me by asking if we could just go to Atlantic City to elope.

I hadn't had a reason to push for a big wedding, and the sincerity on her face that it was truly what she wanted had convinced me to do it exactly how she had asked. We'd been back at RangeMan in time for dinner and hadn't announced our marriage officially until the next weekend while we had all the guys at Shorty's for one of our regular dinners. They'd helped us to toast our change in status and had seemed thrilled to have us finally make official what they'd seen as inevitable all along. The next morning, there was a case of imported Italian wine from the Portici family. It had included their congratulations, wishes for a happy life together, and some kind of complaint about the Bertucci family getting invited to the weddings of all their friends. I wasn't sure what the implied guilt at the bottom of the card was all about, but Stephanie and Vince had found it hilarious, and I loved watching her laugh, so it didn't really matter to me.

Surprisingly, when we'd told her parents, her dad was the one who'd had trouble understanding why we'd eloped. Apparently, he'd wanted the chance to walk her down the aisle and give her to a man he actually liked. Helen, on the other hand, had been over the moon. She'd hugged us both and had immediately gotten on the phone to talk about her youngest daughter being married to that nice security specialist. I'd rolled my eyes at the description of what I did, but figured for the 'Burg, that was close enough to the truth that I couldn't fault her for it.

I didn't run missions for the government anymore. Exactly as Maxwell had predicted, I'd gotten my retirement paperwork and my honorable discharge pronouncement along with several medals that I never looked at. I'd added them to the stack in my safe that I'd accumulated over the years. I couldn't get rid of them, but I knew I'd never run a mission or served a tour for the honors that could be given to me, so the medals held little meaning now that it was over. What mattered was that every night, I got to pull Stephanie into my arms and hold her to me, resting in the fact that we were both safe and living a life filled with so many good things, I couldn't imagine how it could get better. Usually about the time I'd think something like that, she'd move her ass against my crotch, and I'd get a pretty clear idea of how to make things even better. My legs might not be as strong as they'd once been, but my aerobic endurance was greater than ever.

I was alive today because of the efforts of so many people: a field medic that doubled back to pick me up off the side of the road, a nurse with a rough exterior who knew how to push me in just the right way to ensure I'd respond, a surgeon with skilled hands and a determination that I wouldn't die on his watch, and a physical therapist who only took the hardest cases because he knew he was just that good and wanted to help those who needed it most. But I was living today because of a curly-haired brunette who'd listened to that voice inside of her that said I needed her and refused to fall back even when I'd tried to push her away. Stephanie had stood by me when I didn't think I had anything to offer her, and she'd given me a life beyond all I would have thought to imagine. I'd already loved her, but after she'd rescued me, I'd committed my life to making sure she never had to wonder how I felt about her. She'd saved my life, so it was an easy decision to devote mine to her in return.

_**Stephanie's POV**_

Maxwell and I were walking to the SUV in the parking lot of the VA. I was done for the day, but he was only off for a quick lunch with Hector. We rode to Haywood, laughing as we always did anytime we were together. I considered Maxwell and Hector a part of my family. Partly because of the caring and attentive men they were, but mostly because they were both there for Ranger and me during a really dark time, and now that we were on the other side, that shared experience had ensured we would always be bound together.

Halfway back, I got a strange feeling in my stomach. It was like my spidey sense was warning me I was on someone's mind, but I had no idea what it related to. As far as I knew, I wasn't in danger. Heck, I'd been driving the same car for nine months now. Of course, that might be because it was a RangeMan vehicle, fully loaded with every bomb detector and anti-theft mechanism known to man, but I liked to think it was because my life was settling down.

On an impulse, I picked up my phone and dialed Ranger's cell. Instead of his traditional single-syllable greeting, I heard his soothing voice say, "Hey, Babe, how did you know I was thinking about you?"

"It's a gift," I replied as though I had known exactly what he was going to say. "Now, why were you thinking about me?"

I could hear him shuffling in the background, and then the noise completely stopped, telling me he had gone into his office and shut the door to have a little privacy. "I've been thinking about how perfect you are."

"Do I need to remind you how much money you've bled for me over the years?" I teased.

A soft chuckle told me he heard what I'd said, but he didn't comment on it directly. "You run my office, you support me when I'm having an off day, and you've pulled this group of misfits into a real unit."

"No," I interrupted. "It's not a military unit; it's a family."

He accepted my word choice without complaint, which was unusual for him. "That's what I mean; you made us a family."

"Are you hurt?" I blurted out.

Enough of a pause elapsed that I began to worry, and I noticed Maxwell's foot was pressing down on the accelerator.

"My legs are good today," he replied, as though my question didn't make sense. "Why?"

"You're talking." I didn't want to offend him, but his complete answer to my question had reminded me of his call from Germany when he was answering my questions and Bobby said it sounded like he was on morphine. If he hadn't opened up to me that night, I probably wouldn't have said anything to the guys, and who knows how Ranger's time in the hospital might have gone.

"Babe..." He seemed slightly insulted by my statement. "I talk to you all the time."

"Yes..." I had to agree that since Germany, he had become much more open. Sometimes, I still couldn't believe how long we could sit together and just chat. It was hard to reconcile that to the man he'd been before that mission, who thought conversation was only possible if he used the smallest number of words possible.

"Maybe I still have trouble accepting that I had anything to do with the things you listed," I explained. In my opinion, the guys had rallied around him on their own when they saw the man they followed return home slightly off his game. I was convinced he had caused those things to happen by showing the guys he was strong enough to fight impossible odds and beat them. Soldiers understood the strength of heart involved in a battle like that, and their respect for him had monumentally grown.

Then Ranger surprised me by asking, "Is there something you wanted to know that you would have asked if I'd told you Bobby had shot me up with something?"

His question made me laugh, but then I realized he was seriously waiting on a response. "Why do you love me?" I asked, curious as to what he would say.

"You don't need morphine to get an answer to that question," he replied with his voice growing slightly deeper.

When I shivered, Maxwell slowed down noticeably. We were near Haywood by now, but I guess he knew from my side of the conversation that all was fine at the office.

"I love you because of who you are," he answered. "For how you take care of my men and accept my job. For how you embrace everyone you come in contact with and leave everyone better than when they first met you. For how you stand up to me when I'm pigheaded and how you fight me when you think I'm not taking care of myself. I love how I feel when you look at me, and I wish I were worthy of the way you see me, but I know there's no point in arguing you on that because you'd say I was wrong about how I see myself."

He was right about that. I knew he was a good man, with a loving heart and a gentle soul. What he'd done in the defense of this country didn't change any of that in my mind, and no amount of arguing on his part was going to change my mind.

"But mostly I love you because you taught me how," he finished, letting out a deep breath, as though saying that much had been physically exhausting. Not surprisingly, he turned the question on me and asked, "Why do you love me?"

"That's easy," I assured him. "I love you because you let me. There's not time to list all the qualities that drew me to you or the little ways you cemented your way into my heart. In the end, I love you because my heart can't not love you, and when you finally decided to let your guard down and accept what I was giving you, then I knew this was forever."

"That's a good answer, Babe," he assured me as I opened the door to the SUV to walk to the elevator – I might be working out in the gym each morning, but I didn't see the reason to overdo things by taking the stairs.

"You know what's even better?" I asked.

"What?

"I'm in the elevator, almost to five," I announced, anticipating the moment when I could see him again. It had only been four hours, but it felt much longer all of a sudden.

"Go to seven, and I'll meet you there," he instructed.

"Do you want me to ask Ella to bring something up for lunch?" I asked, figuring he wanted to stretch out up there and eat together away from the guys.

"We can call her later," he replied, confusing me.

"How much later?" I wondered, knowing my stomach was beginning to voice its impatience for lunch now.

"I just told you why I love you," he answered in part. "Now I want the chance to show you just how much."

And just like that, lunch was forgotten.

A year ago, I would have said a relationship with Ranger wasn't possible, and I'd never have a family of my own. Now, I was married with a building full of men to take care of and a husband who I fell in love with anew each day.

Some days, he looked in the mirror and saw a man who walked with a slight limp and had to rest on bad leg days in order to keep the pain at bay. When I saw him, I saw the man I adored – the strongest person I knew. The smoothness of his gait didn't matter to me at all, but the way he loved me and the life we'd built together certainly did. There was no way I'd ever admit out loud that his injury was a good thing, but I knew down deep that it was what had brought us together. When he was stuck in that hospital bed, he'd stopped running away from me, and I'd had the chance to catch up so that we could move forward together. Now that he was by my side, I knew we'd spend our lives exactly like that. And in my gut, I knew that was more than enough.

He'd survived a moment when he'd seen his future as too dark to survive, but he'd accepted me when I came so that I could shine a little light to illuminate his outlook and we could build a future together. Now that we had each other, all we had left to do was enjoy it.

_A/N: Once again, we've finished a story and I'm left wondering how this one ended so quickly. This has been a great deal of fun, and I can't thank you all enough for coming along for the ride. For the reviews, the private messages, and the many "guest" comments that I couldn't respond to – thank you! Hearing from you all is in part why I continue typing like mad, so it is not an overstatement to say I couldn't have done this without you._

_Jenny (JenRar) I know I already thanked you at the top of the chapter, but your quality beta work certainly deserves a second comment. You have been up for anything I've sent your way, and that attitude has allowed me to try things I might not have attempted without your encouragement. _

_I'll be taking off for a bit to clear my head and handle things at work and home for a while, but I'll be back. I have no idea what I'll be back with...but I'll definately be back. I look forward to us taking another journey together. __~ Jennifer_


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